Dead and Buried
by serrah.hawke
Summary: Sequel to 'Stage Pressure'. See inside for full blurb. The Deetzs are heading off on one last family vacation courtesy of handyman Beetleman. Trouble starts, however, when Beetlejuice re-encounters a figure from his past at the Resort of Last Resort...
1. Chapter 1

**Dead and Buried**

_Beetlejuice and Lydia didn't expect being 'together' to be so easy. The only hard part? Dealing with Lydia's parents. _

_When Delia arranges one last vacation as a family, Beetlejuice is hired as Mr Beetleman, tour guide extraordinaire, to whisk the Deetzs away on a fun-filled holiday adventure to the Neitherworld. Except, of course, things begin to steadily unravel from there.  
>Not only has the pre-booked resort gone bust, but the compensatory bookings have been placed at the infamous Resort of Last Resort on the River Schticks. Once there, Beetlejuice - already plagued by nightmare flashbacks from his life before - comes face to face with an old acquaintance that he had hoped would stay dead and buried…<em>

* * *

><p><strong>AN**

**This is a sequel to my fanfiction: **_**Stage Pressure**_**.  
><strong>If you haven't read _Stage Pressure_ then you won't understand this  
>fanfiction <strong>at all<strong>, as it's more or less a direct continuation.

Setting: Cartoon-verse (though will borrow quite a bit from movie-verse)  
><span>Pairing:<span> BeetlejuicexLydia

References to events and characters from the show are intensive, and the episode 'In the Schticks' is  
>alluded to quite often. Unlike the prequel, this fanfic will start to borrow a bit more heavily from<br>the movie-verse with an attempt to link the two of them up, but doing so without ruining  
>the feel of the cartoon. I hope. That being said, this fanfiction will shape out to be quite a<br>bit more serious (and darker?) in places than its predecessor.

If you have read _Stage Pressure_ then I'm sure you're aware that  
>this is BeetlejuicexLydia all the way. Expect smut and fluff!<p>

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter One<strong>

Near to the remote hamlet of Winter River (a community later to be known as Peaceful Pines), and located on the outskirts of a town that was much less sleepy, a smoke-filled bar was catering for a steady stream of drinkers. It wasn't an upper-class joint, but not a working-class place neither. In fact, it was classy enough without being too holier-than-thou, and that's why B. J. supposed he liked it. Besides, the clientele were such _suckers_.

He stepped through the front door, trying to keep his head low. No matter how many times he'd been instructed to come in the back way, slinking in the workman's entrance just wasn't his _style_.  
>B. J. hoped to avoid rousing the landlord's attention, and managed to creep halfway across the room before the elderly man doubling as a bartender spotted him.<br>"Juice!" He snapped, though it didn't quite _sound _as though that had been what he'd said. Too much emphasis on the first letter, almost making it into a 'D'.  
>Beetlejuice froze, mid-step. He turned reluctantly, trying to keep his face neutral.<br>His boss was angrily waving a dishrag at him. "You were supposed to be here over an hour ago!"  
>Beetlejuice didn't have an excuse apart from the fact that he believed he was allergic to 'work'. He gesticulated vaguely. "D'ya want a half-assed excuse or an apology?"<p>

"I want you to sit down at the piano,"  
>He did as he was told, perching on the stool and smirking down at the instrument, hands either side of his rear.<br>"And _play!" _The bartender barked, obviously tired of his sense of humour.  
><em>Spoilsport, <em>Beetlejuice thought with an amused sniff. Then, cracking his knuckles, he extended his fingers over the keys and began to play.  
>He had a love-hate relationship with this piano. He despised that sitting at it was working and justified his mother's reasons for getting him and his younger sibling a tutor, but he also loved that it was the one thing he excelled at instead of his brother. Donny had the brains and the niceties, but B. J. had wit, imagination and he could play a piano goddamn well. His parents had always said he'd never succeed in anything, but had retracted that statement as soon as he'd gotten this—this- <em>ugh<em>– job.

_Waitaminute._

Beetlejuice looked up from the ebony and ivory keys, his stomach sinking.

_Whut am I doin' here?_

He was sitting in a bar. A _human _bar. In fact, there wasn't a single ghoul in the building, except for him. … He _was _still dead, wasn't he? Glancing down at his fingers, he was mostly relieved to see the familiar discoloured tips to them, but also only further confused.  
>He knew this place. He knew this scene. Different realities had smashed together. This bar <em>was <em>real, or at least, it had been, once a very long time ago, but it had never existed in the Neitherworld.  
>This wasn't the Neitherworld. This was top-side.<p>

_Oh. I guess I'm dreamin'. _Beetlejuice surmised.  
>At least that explained why everything was in black and white.<p>

Staring at the piano for a second longer, he retracted his hands as though the keys of the instrument might suddenly jump up and bite him.

If this was a dream then surely that meant he was in control of it. Or, if he couldn't control it, he could easily wake up out of it should he want to. Confident on account of this safety net, he suddenly slammed his fingers down in such a clashing series of chords that everyone in the room winced.  
>Beetlejuice threw back his head and began to cackle.<p>

"B. J.!" His boss scolded.  
>Beetlejuice ignored him. He looked down at himself, only to wrinkle up his pointed nose in distaste. What was he <em>wearing<em>? This pinstriped suit was too boring, too regular. He didn't think he had his magic, but dreams were usually alterable nonetheless. He pictured himself in his trademark striped suit and his subconscious mind let it be, the thin white stripes turning bolder, thicker.

Standing up and straightening at a leisurely pace, he then walked over to the bar, behind which his old boss was slowly turning red with baffled anger.  
>Beetlejuice rested his elbows on the countertop, smiling amiably in a way that displayed his decayed, green teeth. "Yo, Tommy, ol' pal. I'll take a martini,"<br>The man glared back at him, speaking tightly. "I'm not paying you to drink, Juice. Get back at the piano, before I fire your sorry ass,"

The ghost quirked a brow.  
>Pretty tough talk, for a dream; he reminded himself never to eat roaches on burnt toast for supper again.<p>

"Y'know what? I think I quit," He said in a rather pleasant tone of voice before turning, eyes darting about mischievously.  
>As soon as he willed it, the four walls of the bar fell down, falling outwards like a collapsed studio set, kicking up dust into empty space.<br>The clientele looked horrified.  
>Yawning and stepping into the centre of the floor, Beetlejuice stretched his arms above his head. "Boy, I really know how to bring a house down," He remarked with a snigger, before noticing the human stood closest to him. He pointed at them emphatically. "You! I got fifty sheets outta you fer that anti-ageing serum scam!" He cackled, before hopping on the spot at the sight of another past victim. "And you! I got twenty outta you for pretendin' to be a private-eye. You guys were sooo <em>easy<em>,"

His amusement died quickly, however, when a second look-around revealed that the other people in the room had no faces, only blurry, blank heads.  
>Beetlejuice took a half-step back, gulping. He could've sworn he'd been able to make out features on those faces when he'd walked in. Taking a deep breath, he forced himself to recover. After all, this was a dream, and logic never exists in dreams.<p>

In a movement that had become natural to him he went to lift his legs in order to hover out of the building, only to find that gravity didn't want to let him go. Feet remaining firmly on the ground, he supposed all dreams had limitations.  
>Beetlejuice instead side-stepped the faceless drinkers and stuffed his hands in his pockets. Absently whistling as he made his way out of the building, he began to walk aimlessly in no particular direction. Or, so he thought. When he reached the other side of the cobbled street, determined to take a left, he found himself heading the other way entirely. Suddenly a mad realisation struck him: he couldn't control his own feet.<p>

"Hey!"  
>He tried very hard to stop, but it was no good; he could only walk, and walk briskly at that. Looking down at his feet, his face contorted with irritation. "Hey! What d'you two think you're <em>doin<em>'?" He demanded. By the time he glanced back up, he was heading down a nondescript alley.  
>The objections he hollered aloud did nothing to stop himself turning a few corners in this labyrinth of alleys. Soon his dead heart began to palpitate madly. Something was awfully familiar about this route he was taking, something he was keeping suppressed. One thing was for sure, too – it was terribly dark all of a sudden.<br>A second alley came up on his right, creating a T-junction, and at the mouth of this turning his feet finally stopped. Exhaling with relief, Beetlejuice brushed himself down self-consciously, before movement at the peripheral of his vision caught his attention. He turned. Cowering in the shadows and sitting in an oversized trench coat was a face so familiar that Beetlejuice's heart throbbed for an entirely different reason.  
>His eyes widened.<p>

"_Lydia_?" He prompted, dumbfounded.

His best friend and love raised her head, eyes glazed over, black streams of make-up running down her cheeks.

Now Beetlejuice knew he was dreaming. There was no way Lydia could be here. This was _wrong_, the whole thing was _wrong_.

He crouched before her, concerned. The way she looked didn't bode well with him at all; he wanted to pick her up, wipe her eyes, take her home.  
>"Babes, why are ya cryin'?"<p>

Lydia's eyes were large and doe-like - she looked like a rabbit trapped in a car's headlights. Whimpering as he went to pick her up from the floor, Lydia slammed her eyes tightly shut and shook her head furiously. Leaning away from him, recoiling in his shadow, she pulled the coat tighter around her. "I don't want to see this, B. J..."

"Babes?" Beetlejuice breathed. His face lined with worry. What exactly didn't she want to see?

Then, inexplicably, the penny dropped. He realised what was so wrong about this dream.  
>Beetlejuice recoiled, face stricken, and glanced around himself in a flustered panic. This path that had been decided for him… whilst it hadn't been the last route he'd walked on Earth it was <em>representative<em> of it. This wasn't just a dream, this was a montaged flashback with bits of his present sewn in. This was a _nightmare_.

His pupils retracted to the size of pinpricks. This alley was **_the_** alley. The very same one that had sealed his fate.

_Waitaminute. Wait. I—I know where this is going…_! Beetlejuice thought with rising hysteria.  
>That was when the trapdoor beneath his feet opened.<p>

Screaming, Beetlejuice plummeted into blackness, gravity pulling him down head-first. Free-falling for what felt like an eternity in this empty void, he finally began to make out the bottom of the pit, but this was of no comfort even if it would break his fall. It glistened innocently, shining almost with its own light.  
>Beetlejuice shrieked at the top of his lungs. "<em>Fresh water<em>? EYAAAAGHHHH!"

The blackness dissipated and the world opened up around him, as he knew it would. He hadn't fallen into a well, he'd fallen right into another memory.

Before he could hit the surface of the water, something tied itself around his legs, catching him.  
>"<em>Oof<em>!" He bounced a little as though on a bungie rope, long blond hair dangling, the tips of which almost tickling the flowing, bubbling water.

Trying to control his breathing, Beetlejuice glanced around, his view of the world inconveniently upside down. He was suspended over a river, and he immediately knew which without even taking his surroundings into account. This was Winter River. The same river that wound through the town of the same name, through the town that would later be known as Peaceful Pines, Connecticut. The same river that the Maitlands would drown in courtesy of a car accident in the late eighties. The same river that Lydia cycled over every day in order to reach the centre of town.

Beetlejuice's tie loosened and dangled in front of his face, where he tried to blow it out of his line of vision enough to look up at his feet, up towards the bridge he knew was there. It wasn't covered, not yet, but the structure was in the process of being built, as it had been when this memory had taken place.  
>It was too dark to make anything but the platform out. Blood was rushing to his head, making him dizzy.<p>

Then, a voice he never believed he'd hear again knifed through the silence, chilling him to the bone.  
>"<em>Looks like I caught me a Beetlejuice<em>," The man jeered in a voice as cold as a shard of ice. The name didn't roll correctly off of his tongue, maybe because in life he'd never said it.  
>Every fine hair that covered Beetlejuice's body stood on end. In fact, it almost felt as though each of these hairs had hundreds of little ones also covering them, and these were all stood bristling too. He squirmed, dangling at the end of the rope; any minute now he would lose his self-control and scream.<br>This nightmare was beyond his control now, and what was worse, he couldn't even wake up.

"Aahahaha, o-oh, i-it's you," He said, voice hoarse as he laughed nervously. His character wouldn't let him be anything but cocky, no matter how much he wanted to cry for help.  
>It hurt to look up from this position, it made his vision blurry. The only part of his captor he could make out was their heavily booted feet.<p>

The man made a noise that was something between a 'hmm' and a laugh. "... Do you know why you're here, Juice? You're here because I can't trust you," He said accusingly. Just like Tommy in the bar, there was a strange emphasis on the first letter of his 'surname' that made Beetlejuice's stomach knot anxiously.  
>He struggled against his bonds, beads of sweat forming on his brow. <em>No. No, I don't want to go through this again…!<br>_"LYDIAAA!" He screamed.

The man on the bridge placed his hands on the temporary, contrived railing, leering down at him. He found this outcry amusing. "Your little girlfriend hasn't even been _born _yet," He said with relish.

Beetlejuice's chest heaved. He grit his teeth, still fighting to get free.  
>No. He'd just seen her. She <em>was <em>here, she had to be.  
>"L-Lyds!" He tried again, squirming desperately. A second rope then wrapped around his chest, tying his arms to his side and preventing any further attempts to escape.<br>The ropes that were holding him didn't seem to be attached to any kind of pulley mechanism – they were simply hovering mid-air - but even so, the man was in charge of them, as though he'd- as though he'd '_juiced_' them. This thought alone turned Beetlejuice dead-cold, but not as much as when the ropes suddenly dropped a few inches, submerging his forehead in the freezing cold water.

"_Eyaghh_!"

"Nobody came to your funeral, B. J.,"

Beetlejuice stopped fruitlessly struggling. He felt as though he'd been stabbed in the chest, and the blow was enough to cause his eyes to sting.

"Only Tommy, and he came out of a sense of duty. Nobody cared about you. They were all glad to be rid of you," The man was tampering with the rope, impressing his will on it as somehow, somewhere above him, Beetlejuice could feel it about to give way.

"No- No- wait-!" He tried to plead, but his cries fell on deaf ears.

"Time to _clean up your act_, Beetlejuice,"

"NO!" The rope snapped. Beetlejuice plunged into the water, screaming, but that only helped the liquid fill his lungs sooner.

Panicking, unable to think clearly, he felt as though a great weight had wrapped itself around his legs and was dragging him down, down, down to the bottom of the river. At the same time he felt as though the current had picked up and was taking him along for the ride. He fought against the ropes holding him but it did no good, he was running out of oxygen.

He was drowning, he was going to _drown_-

"_Beetlejuice_?" A muffled voice cried above the surface, barely permeating through the water.  
>He tried to struggle towards the voice but he couldn't move, his lungs were burning, his throat constricting. He couldn't focus anymore, he was blacking out. He wasn't dead, he hadn't ever been dead, he was dying now, all over again.<p>

"_Beetlejuice_!" That same voice. It was pulling him out of the river without physically touching him at all, pulling him towards a _safe_ kind of blackness, the blackness of your own closed eyelids. Back to reality, a lifeline. _Lyds_.

"BEEJ!"

Beetlejuice lurched upright in bed, wide awake.  
>Wheezing and panting in his hysteria, a cold sweat had broken out over his already cold body.<br>He slammed a hand over his heart as though to keep it in there, catching his breath, trying to will the nightmare - the memories - away. As soon as he'd recovered, he glanced at the empty space of bed next to him, only to recall that Lydia hadn't stayed the night. Nursing his temples, he was about to presume he'd imagined her calling his name when the sound of fingers rapping on glass stirred him into looking up.

Lydia was in his mirror, glancing in at him anxiously despite appearing to be half-asleep herself. She was reaching forwards as though about-ready to pass through to his side.  
>"Are you okay?" She asked with evident concern, despite her eyes being only half-open. He must have woken her up.<p>

This reality-shock and the juxtaposition of such a comfortable present against such a horrific nightmare made Beetlejuice uncomfortable. Nevertheless, he didn't want to worry Lydia. He painted on a poker-face, bluffing. "Y-Yeah, babes,"

It was clear from her face that she didn't believe him. Lydia clambered up onto her dressing table. Since they'd been together these few months they'd taken to leaving access open to each other. Swinging a leg through the portal and slipping into his room, Lydia stepped over to him wearing no more than a black slip, slouched with fatigue. "Nightmare?" Usually their nightmares were the _good _kind, anticipated, like free choose-your-ending horror stories. This, obviously, hadn't been one of the good ones.

"How did y'tell?" Beetlejuice said dryly, his smile particularly weak.  
>"You were screaming loud enough for all of Peaceful Pines to hear," Lydia commented, gesturing with her thumb in the direction of the mirror.<p>

Beetlejuice blinked. _Oh_. There was no point in lying to her then. He shrugged his shoulders. "Heh. Sorry I woke ya, babes," He reached up to her, wrapping his fingers around hers and lightly tugging her in the direction of the bed in invitation.

Lydia smiled tiredly. "It's okay, I wasn't sleeping well anyway," She climbed up onto his bed, tucking herself in beside him.

An unspoken request passed from him to her and Lydia complied, wrapping her arms around him and resting her head beneath his. She didn't ask if he wanted to talk about it, he quite obviously didn't. It was enough for her that he was letting her comfort him, and, anyway, she was sure he'd tell her in his own time.  
>"Can I sleep over?" She mumbled into his pyjama shirt instead.<p>

Beetlejuice nosed the crown of her head, half-affectionately but also somewhat absently. "D'ya really have to ask?"  
>"Mmm… No…" Lydia said with a smile, relaxing back into the bed. Then she looked at him with her heavily-drooping eyes, the concern having not yet gone away entirely. "Are you okay now?"<br>"I'll be fine, babes," He said without hesitation, leaning back too. Though, sure as he sounded, he didn't feel certain. "You're here now,"

Beetlejuice reached over for the bedside clock, checking the time: 3:17am. He began winding it to set the alarm. "What time d'ya need to be up, babycakes?"  
>"Mm... Set it for seven… I'll slip back- into my room- then…"<br>"Gotcha,"

When Beetlejuice next rolled back to face her, Lydia was already sound asleep.

Smiling down at her, he brushed dark strands of her hair out of her face before settling down. He didn't think he could fall back to sleep if he tried, but at least he had something to preoccupy himself with in the meantime. He was usually too ignorant to bother watching Lydia sleep; being an unromantic guy it wasn't something that ever crossed his mind. Plus, much as he thought his stamina was nothing to be sniffed at, when he and Lydia did the deed he usually found himself falling asleep right after, but that was okay because Lydia did the same. He soon realised that watching Lydia sleep was probably the singular most soothing experience of his life. Er, and afterlife.

He wondered what she could be dreaming about, but at the same time hoped the dreams were pleasant.

At one point he tried to will himself into drifting off just as easily as she had, but quite soon gave up. Each time he closed his eyes all he could see was a river, a still peaceful river in the dark of night. And somewhere, beneath the water's surface, he knew he was slowly drowning.

* * *

><p>Lydia had given up college for an intensive home study course. At first Charles, and Delia especially, had been gravely disappointed but Lydia had won them over. Having a darkroom in the basement had certainly helped. She seemed to be performing even better than she had in college, though that was because, even with the distractions, this lifestyle suited her better. After all, she still got to see Beetlejuice almost everyday.<p>

It had been three months since she'd won the fashion contest, three months since she'd risen to Neitherworld fame then plummeted back down to anonymity, three months since she and Beetlejuice had become a 'couple'. … It still sounded strange, even in her own mind.

Now, winding down a lengthy telephone conversation with the promotional manager of Top Gossip, a date had been arranged for the release of her _Showtime! _collection. Lydia could hardly believe it was really going to happen; these past few months that it had taken to batch produce her clothes made the memory of winning the fashion contest feel like a distant dream, but now they were finally being shipped to her local store in the Peaceful Pines Mondo Mall.  
>"That's <em>great <em>news!" She exclaimed giddily, buzzing from the accomplishment. "Thank you so much!" Just as Lydia placed the receiver back down, Delia poked her head around the living room archway, smiling encouragingly.  
>"Well?"<br>"Two weeks on Friday," Her step-daughter replied excitedly, her cheeks flushed.  
>Delia clapped her hands together, overjoyed. Then the date struck a chord in her mind, and her face fell. "But… your father and I are in New York then, Lydia,"<p>

Lydia had quite forgotten that her dad's former employer and fair-weather friend, Maxie Dean, had invited the two up for some fancy party and was putting them up at a hotel for the three-day weekend.  
>She wasn't sure how she felt about this. On the one hand, she'd miss having her parents around to support her, but on the other hand she would have the house to herself for the weekend. With Beetlejuice.<br>She opened her mouth to say something but Delia got there first, flustered. "I'll—I'll see if we can reschedule it. This is hardly something we can _miss_,"

At this, Lydia scrutinised her, but not without some degree of affection. She remembered a time when Delia would have jumped at the opportunity of returning to the city with a chance to impress, when she likewise convulsed at the thought of spending unnecessary time with her darkly morbid and unusual stepdaughter. It was funny how she and Beetlejuice meeting had changed all that, even if her parents no longer remembered.  
>She'd decided how she felt anyway - the appeal of an empty house proved too strong to ignore. "No, don't worry, mother. You were there for the contest, that's enough for me,"<p>

Delia looked both hurt and relieved, as though permission had been granted but it was permission she nonetheless felt guilty for having asked for. "Don't be silly, Lydia! I want to support you in your artistic exploits. I'm just so glad to see you taking after me," She said, even pinching Lydia's cheek in the process.

Despite preparing for a weekend break in little over a fortnight's time, Delia had a holiday brochure tucked under her arm.  
>Lydia raised an eyebrow and pointed to it, curious. "Um… looking at vacations, Mom?"<br>Suddenly she felt as though someone had breathed into her ear and she tensed. She wasn't surprised when a little voice then whispered: "_Vacation? Great, babes. Encourage 'em. We can get the house to _ourselves! _With the parents away, B. J. and Lyds can pl-_"  
>Lydia swatted at the source of the voice beside her ear, trying to keep a straight face. "Ahaha, a-aren't you happy with New York?"<p>

"Oh, yes, but sweetheart, New York is just for the _weekend_. Your father and I want to go somewhere to unwind next week. Like—Like the Hotel Hello,"

_I... can't imagine Dad would agree… _Lydia thought with a grimace.

"And besides, we want you to come along. It's been so long since we've had a family vacation. I know you're a young woman now and taking vacations with your parents isn't exactly your idea of a good time, but what about one last one, hmm?"

Lydia's face drained of all colour.

"_So much fer a week to ourselves,_"

Ignoring Beetlejuice once more, despite him having quite simply said what was exactly on her mind, she tried to look enthusiastic about the idea. "T-That sounds great, Mom. But, um, if you want a vacation like Hotel Hello then… then why don't you hire Mr Beetleman as a tour guide?"

Delia looked at her, placing the brochure down on the sideboard without giving it a second glance. "Won't that make things awkward for you, Lydia?"  
>The young woman winced. Unsure as to what her stepmother meant, she answered hesitantly. "W-Why would it?"<br>Delia pursed her lips. "Well, your boyfriend's father would be accompanying us on vacation. Unless… you were suggesting we invite B. J. as well?"

Lydia then understood what her mother had meant about it being 'awkward' and bit her lip. Ah. This was where things had gotten complicated.  
>She didn't know how to explain to her mother that not only were Mr Beetleman and B. J. Beetleman the same person, but that Beetlejuice was a ghost.<br>_But, hey, don't worry, Mom. I didn't lie about him being my boyfriend. That counts for something, right? _

Before her mother could suspect, Lydia had to quickly choose which of Beetlejuice's alter egos to invite on vacation. After all, she couldn't expect him to keep switching identities, it would get too confusing or, knowing him, he'd forget what he was doing and the truth would come out some way or another. No. It was as the tour guide, or the 'boyfriend'.  
>If she suggested 'B. J.' to come along, her parents would be unbearable, it would be the vacation from hell. But if she stuck with Mr Beetleman, moderately trusted handy-man and convenient contact, then her parents would leave them be.<p>

"Actually… uh, B-B. J. wouldn't be able to make it. He's, uh, doing some volunteer work," _Yeah, right_. "But I'm sure neither of them would mind. After all, it's—well, it's one of the things Mr Beetleman does for a living, right?"

Delia, one hand on the sideboard and one hand cupped in front of her mouth, pondered this for a moment. "Well, I suppose so, but it's quite last minute. Wouldn't he mind?"  
>Lydia, desperate to have this vacation on her terms, skirted the question and dived in with her proposal before Delia could dither any longer. "Why don't I give him a call? No harm in trying, right?"<br>Her stepmother caved. "Oh, I suppose it's not a bad idea. Go ahead, Lydia,"

_Yes! _

Lydia was already heading for the stairs. "I'll just get his number then," With this she darted up to her room. Shutting the door behind her, Beetlejuice appeared at the foot of her bed, already smirking from ear to ear. Years ago he used to struggle to get Lydia to go along with his schemes, but now it seemed more and more that she was coming up with them herself. He was rubbing off on her, and he loved it.  
>"So, what's the plan, babes?" He prompted eagerly.<p>

Lydia straightened but still leant back on the door for support, smiling. "We're going on vacation. If my parents are taking me along then I'm taking you along. Or, well, I mean, you're taking us, 'Mr Beetleman'," The last she said with a hint of flirtation.  
>Beetlejuice closed the short distance between them, expression one of devilish mischief. "But what about us, Lyds? What if yer parents find out that the handy-dandy man's got his hands on their little pumpkin?" To emphasise his point he wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her towards him.<br>Lydia narrowed her eyes seductively back at him. "They won't. We'll just be sneaky," She promised, before pressing her lips to his.

To some, the idea of kissing Beetlejuice was a horrific mental image. To Lydia it was anything but. After all, seven years with him had mostly desensitised her - everything had become part of his _charm_ and, in a way, part of his attraction. And, as his tongue swept her mouth, she was reminded that he was a damn good kisser.

Pulling apart for some air, Lydia marvelled at how the night before seemed as though it had never happened. Yet, despite Beetlejuice's good mood, Lydia was almost afraid of how well he _had _buried it. Glancing up at him, noticing the slightly tired look around his eyes, she couldn't help but pry. "Are you okay, Beej?" She asked carefully.  
>His brow furrowed in puzzlement. "Yeah, babes. Why wouldn't I be?"<br>"Well... no reason, except last night you gave me quite a fright,"

He flinched. He hadn't wanted to be reminded.

Lydia rushed on, her arms wrapped around his neck, hands resting on his nape. "You know you can tell me anything, right?" She prompted.  
>The ghost both rolled his eyes and averted them, covering his insecurities, as always, with shortness. "Jeesh, Lyds, ya don't have to get all sappy about it. Y'sound like my mom,"<p>

Lydia sighed, withdrew her arms so as to fold them in front of her and raised an eyebrow. "Look, can you just play tour guide and agree to take us on vacation?"

She was to hear no arguments from him. Beetlejuice half-saluted her playfully. "Sure thing, toots,"  
>He disappeared with a burst of smoke and lightning. Not a moment later the front doorbell began to chime downstairs.<p>

Lydia sat back on her bed, exhaling heavily as she heard Delia head for the door. Whatever happened, this vacation would prove to be an interesting one.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** Sorry I was a little slow to update, but I've had a rough time of it lately with a death in the family. :(  
>Chapter three shall be along soon, it's already half-written.<p>

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Two<strong>

Delia, upon opening up the front door, was only half-surprised to see Mr Beetleman standing on the porch. After all, the man had an almost impeccable sense of timing.  
>"Oh, Mr Beetleman, how nice to see you," She smiled naively, stepping back away from the door in order to give him room to enter the house.<p>

Thumbs hooked around the straps of his striped overalls, Beetlejuice strode in confidently with a tip of the head. "Yer daughter gave me a call, Mrs D. Just, uh, finished up a job down the road, and, y'know… thought I'd stop by,"

"Well, that's kind of you," Delia clasped her hands together, watching the 'handy-man' push the door to a close behind him. He stepped further into the hallway only to remove his workman's cap and shake his hair out. For a moment Delia felt sure she saw a small beetle or two fly loose as he did so. She still found it hard to believe that this man was the father of her stepdaughter's boyfriend; in her head she tried to work out how old he might be in comparison to how old she knew B. J. to be. It didn't compute. She narrowed her eyes somewhat, scrutinising him. She remembered what she'd called into question countless times before: these past seven years Mr Beetleman hadn't changed at all.

Delia Deetz's concentration broke when Beetlejuice cleared his throat. "You're- after a family vacation then, Mrs D?" He asked, motioning to the sideboard where she had left the holiday brochure.  
>Delia jumped a little, aware she'd been staring. Chewing on her bottom lip as she cupped her chin, she gave a slight shrug of her shoulders. "We're not sure when's the best time to go…" She said.<p>

Beetlejuice smiled roguishly, replacing his cap. "Hey, why not tomorrow?" He suggested, rubbing his hands together.  
>Delia's eyes widened, unsure whether she was horrified by the idea or taken by it. "Tomorrow? Isn't that a bit short notice?"<br>"Naww, not for me. I got the perfect place lined up for ya,"  
>Delia's brows furrowed slightly but she said nothing. Again she found herself examining him closely – his pale, pale skin that was almost lilac, the dark rings around his jaundiced green eyes. She wondered, not for the first time, if he had some kind of medical condition. Still, he'd always been good to them, so she didn't quite know why she was inspecting him so intently.<p>

Delia's gaze instead shifted to the family photo mounted on the corridor's wall – one of herself, Charles and Lydia taken around the time they'd first moved in. For Charles it had been soon after his initial nervous breakdown, but in the photo he was still glowing with the smugness of a real estate big-shot. Delia, beside him, dressed as a city-going yuppie who hadn't yet adjusted to life in the sticks, was frowning discontentedly. Meanwhile, an angsty, preteen Lydia was stood apart from both of them, dressed head-to-toe in black, a forties woven mourning hat tied to her head. The solemn yet stoic expression on her face could have placed her as Wednesday Addam's twin sister. They looked at odds with one another, an unbalanced family. The second framed photo on the wall painted an all-together different picture. Whilst Charles, here, seemed all the more anxious, he was also content, and Delia looked much more comfortable in the house she had grown to accept. The main difference was Lydia, almost out of her teenage years, still gothic but not in an overbearing way. In this photograph her face was split with a wide smile, standing _with _her parents rather than to one side, alone. She was clutching a clothed, plush doll to her chest, a doll in a stripy t-shirt with the ugliest face Delia had ever seen. Even the doll was smiling.  
>Over the years they'd changed as a family, as Lydia had changed. In fact, she seemed to be maturing so quickly now that Delia felt her slipping through her fingers. She could only imagine that soon Lydia would want to move out, settle down, maybe even leave Peaceful Pines all together. She had no idea that this was far from the truth, and had no idea that she was face to face with the reason why this was the case.<p>

Delia exhaled sadly. "Lydia's… growing up so fast now. It'd be nice to have this one last vacation together, the three of us." She said almost under her breath, gazing up wistfully at the photographs. Then she paused, realising she was rambling to herself. She smiled apologetically, turning back to face a puzzled looking Beetlejuice. "Er, and you, of course, Mr Beetleman. Ahah, can't do without our tour guide,"  
>At this, the disguised ghost nonchalantly gripped onto the braces of his overalls, closing his eyes to smirk knowingly. "Yeah. I'm practically one of the family," He chuckled. As soon as the words had left his mouth, however, he felt both a strangely cosy feeling and a twinge of guilt at keeping the nature of his and Lydia's relationship a secret. After all, this was the closest truth he could offer his lover's mother.<p>

Delia, of course, read those words an entirely different way. "So what's B. J. doing with himself lately?" She asked in polite conversation.  
>"Huh?" Beetlejuice blinked. It took him a moment to realise that she wasn't referring to him, and another moment to work out who it was that she <em>was <em>referring to. "_Oh_, B. J.. My, uh—My 'son', right." He said quickly, before Delia could notice his hesitation. He tried to remember what alibi Lydia had given his alter-ego earlier. "Ahaha, h-he's, uh… doin' some volunteer stuff, y'know how it is…"

Delia nodded, but her face was lined with worry. "I hope he won't mind the four of us taking off out of town without him,"  
>"<em>Mind<em>?" Beetlejuice waved a hand in dismissal. "Pshaww…"  
>Apparently satisfied with this response, Delia glanced around cagily for a moment as though expecting Lydia to be spying on them, double-checking that she was out of earshot. Whispering, even going so far as to cup a hand around her mouth, Delia leant towards Beetlejuice. "Between me and you, though, it's a bit of a relief,"<p>

The 'handy-man' stopped, staring down his nose at Lydia's step-mother with a bewildered quirk of an eyebrow. "Bwuh?"  
>Delia, again, looked about, only to continue talking in the same quiet voice. "I don't mean that the way it sounds, but it would have just been a little… inappropriate to be on vacation with two 'lovebirds'. You know, not knowing what they could be up to when our backs are turned, or - rather - not <em>wanting <em>to know? Charles' nerves would have been _terrible_,"

Beetlejuice gulped, his cheeks reddening with shame. Trying to compose his reaction, he smiled a very wide and very toothy fake smile. "Oh, right. Erheheheh…" He laughed nervously. "I, uh, know what ya mean,"  
>He felt like she'd just accused him, or if she hadn't already then she was about to based on his guilty reaction. Delia, however, was too naive to see through him. Nevertheless, Beetlejuice suddenly felt like a terrible, terrible person. Pulling the collar of his shirt away from his neck, he glanced heavenwards, continuing to chuckle. <em>Well, what Lydia's parents don't know won't hurt 'em...<em>

Despite Delia having spoken in a voice barely above a whisper, her twitchy husband had overheard his name being dropped into the conversation. Uncomfortably fidgeting, he appeared at the other end of the hallway."D-Delia?" He questioned. As far as he knew, they hadn't been expecting Mr Beetleman, and to find that the handy-man was here was not a good sign. It meant one of two things was about to happen, or better yet two of two things - an experience he would live to regret, and parting with cash.

Delia spun around excitedly, clapping her hands together. "Oh, Charles! Mr Beetleman's here. Get me some money, dear, we're booking our vacation,"  
>Charles whitened. He should have known.<br>"V-V-Vacation?" He repeated, stricken.

At the sight of his (arguably) favourite victim, Beetlejuice's spirits lifted. "Yesiree, Chucky," He grinned, moving past Delia and to Charles' side so fast that when the Deetzs blinked they'd missed it. He began furiously shaking the man's hand, too insensitive to feel any sort of sympathy for him. After all, a henpecked Charles meant cash in Beetlejuice's pocket and a man who was too busy worrying about himself trying to relax than worrying why his daughter was either out of the house or locked away quietly in her room.

Charles practically whimpered. He couldn't go to another one of those themed resorts Mr Beetleman always referred them to, he'd be driven _insane_. Hardly even gripping Beetlejuice's hand back, Charles instead looked to his wife both desperately and imploringly. "W-Where? _Delia_?"  
>"Oh hush, Charles." Delia hummed, perky as ever. "Money, please,"<br>Beetlejuice quit shaking his hand so fast that Charles' arm was practically thrown back to his side. If there was money to be had, then Beetlejuice didn't want to distract the good man from retrieving it.

Seeing no way out of this and with a wobbling bottom lip, Charles obediently fished the wallet out of the back pocket of his trousers and handed it over to his wife.  
>Delia immediately pulled out a good handful of notes before holding them out in Beetlejuice's direction.<br>The ghost swiped the money from Delia's extended hand with casual ease, pocketing the cash in the pouch of his overalls, before patting Charles on the shoulder absently. "Gonna take you to a new resort this time, Chuckster. Somewhere ya can _relax_, know whut I mean?"  
>Charles, numb and deflated, could only nod. "I- I certainly hope so,"<p>

With one hand tucked into the pocket of his overalls, thumbing through the notes gleefully, Beetlejuice counted out two fingers on the other hand. "So that's a room for yerselves and one for yer daughter–"  
>Delia nodded midway through Beetlejuice's sentence but Charles let out a tangled gasp, cutting him off. "W-Wait, we can share a room with pumpkin…" He objected, only for his wife to promptly round on him, stern-faced. "Charles," She scolded. "Lydia is a grown woman now. She needs her own <em>space<em>," Turning back to the handy-man, she smiled broadly. "That will be fine,"

Beetlejuice grinned from ear to ear. "_Great_! I'll just make all the reservations now, Mrs D. Noooo problem-o." He winked, before offering Charles some parting words of comfort. "Trust me, Chuckster, it will be a _barrel _of laughs,"  
>Hoping his nightmare was at an end, Charles pinched himself only to find he was wide awake. He fell into a melancholic mood almost instantaneously, and nodded gravely.<p>

With everything arranged, Beetlejuice forgot himself and made to take a determined step forwards towards the stairs, absent-mindedly thinking about heading up to Lydia's room. Just as Charles raised his head and an eyebrow in wonder, Beetlejuice realised what he'd been about to do and retracted quickly. He turned to the front door, opening it up. "Eh heh, right, well, uh, see ya, folks. Better get packin'," He said, stepping out onto the porch.

"See you bright and early-!" Delia sing-songed, closing the door after him.

* * *

><p>Instead of heading straight for Lydia's room as he had originally intended, Beetlejuice zapped himself to the Neitherworld.<br>Standing, hands in his cash-filled pockets, on the strip of highway opposite the Roadhouse, he whistled to Doomie for a pick-up. His first port of call? The resort of choice, the Hotel du Yell.

* * *

><p>The Hotel du Yell was a classy resort near the river Schticks, far enough away to be out of ear-shot and not located entirely in the middle of nowhere. The area enjoyed a good climate, was popular with tourists, and was one of the more 'human' hotels of the Neitherworld. Much as Beetlejuice liked scaring the pants off of Lydia's parents, now that he and Lydia were an item he kind of felt like it was his duty to go a little easier on them.<p>

He floated into the hotel reception area, fast-approaching the counter behind which was sitting an older female ghoul with a blank, tired expression. There was something about the place, some kind of tense atmosphere that he couldn't quite put his finger on, but, as per usual, he ignored it.  
>Resting his elbows on the reception's worktop and drumming the fingers of one hand restlessly on its surface, he pulled out the money the Deetzs had given him and placed it on the counter. Though Neitherworldian dollars were the official currency, Outerworld dollars were worth their weight in gold here.<p>

The woman glanced up at him, her voice as dull as her face. "Can I help you, sir?"  
>Beetlejuice nodded, brandishing the cash. "I'd like to get three roo- wait, er, m-make that two. Two doubles, for, uh... tomorrow."<br>The receptionist didn't blink. She nodded in acknowledgment and looked at both the computer on her desk and a clipboard for information, before beginning to write something down. "What name?" She asked flatly.

"Jui— Deetz," Beetlejuice corrected himself.

The woman told him the price and, surprised by the decent rates, Beetlejuice found himself handing over the money without even attempting to haggle.  
>The receptionist took his money passively before handing over a slip of paper as a booking reference. "All done,"<br>"Great!" Beetlejuice was only a little surprised that that whole process had taken so short a time. He snatched the paper from her hand and gave a half-wave in gratitude before hovering towards the wide double-doors out to where Doomie was parked waiting.

Not a half-hour later, Beetlejuice reappeared in Lydia's bedroom, both grinning broadly and brandishing the booking reference with gusto. At the sound of his arrival, Lydia sat up on her bed, face lifting. "B. J.?"

Beetlejuice, stooping theatrically low, presented the booking reference to her, adopting his sophisticated persona. "For you, my lady," He enunciated.  
>Lydia's face broke into a wide smile. "Oh, Beej!" She hopped off of the bed and dashed over to him, going to take the slip of paper from his hand. As soon as she reached up for it, he held it up out of her grip, his hand popping free from his wrist and floating up towards the ceiling. "Now, wait a minute, sweet-cheeks." He stopped her, smirking mischievously. "Where's my tip?"<br>Lydia knew he wasn't asking for money. She pressed her lips to his in a grateful kiss.

Beetlejuice's hand floated back down, reattaching itself. "Well, now that the whole vacation business is out of the way... what were our plans for the rest of the day, babes?" He asked, drifting away from her to hover over her four-poster, arms folded beneath his head.  
>Lydia raised her eyebrows, an amused look spreading its way across her face. "Funny you should ask that." She said, with all the weight of impending bad news. "Dinner? With your parents?"<p>

Beetlejuice snorted, and began to laugh. "Good one, babes." Lydia's face, however was firmly earnest. He could tell she'd enjoyed dispensing the news as her lips were still quirked upwards in a slight smile.  
>"I'm being serious," She assured. It was devious of her, but Lydia had taken to arranging things behind his back and telling him about them last minute because she knew he would otherwise find some excuse or reason not to go.<p>

Beetlejuice gulped, noticeably paling a few shades. "But, babes–"  
>Lydia curled her index finger and beckoned him over with it, smirking. "Come on, Beej,"<br>"NOW?" In his incredulity, his voice rose in pitch.  
>"<em>Yes<em>, now. Beetlejuice–"

"But, Lyds, we gotta–"

"-Beetlejuice-"

"-pack for vacation! _Please_?"

"Beetlejuice!"

After the usual clap of thunder and a billowing cloud of smoke, Beetlejuice found they were no longer stood in Lydia's room. As it so happened, he was now being tugged down a suburban street by his tie, inadvertently having 'juiced both himself and Lydia to the exact street his parents lived on.  
>Beetlejuice began to shriek. Trying to dig his booted heels into the ground but unable to find any purchase, he shook his head from side to side. "Baaabes! You can't do this to meee-!"<p>

Pace quickening, Lydia rolled her eyes and smiled. "Stop complaining, Beej,"  
>"No! I don't wanna! You can't make me!"<br>"You're _such_ a baby," She said with a laugh, but even as soon as she said it she knew what to expect. Suddenly she was no longer pulling on his tie, because it was no longer there anymore, and neither was he. Instead an infant Beetlejuice dropped into her hands, wailing.

Lydia half-sighed, half-laughed, cradling him in her arms with a second roll of her eyes. "I rest my case," She commented, raising her voice over the sound of his howling. She juggled him awkwardly as she opened the gate beside the mailbox that read 'The Juices', before making her way down towards the doorstep of house number thirteen and a half.

"Come on, 'baby', act your age," She said, voice heavy with sarcasm.  
>A puff of smoke both transformed and transported the infant from her arms to an adult-sized Beetlejuice standing beside her, glowering, pouty.<br>Without dignifying his behaviour with a reaction or response, Lydia rang the bell and rapped her knuckles lightly on the coffin-shaped front door, smiling pleasantly in the face of Beetlejuice's tired lack of enthusiasm. After two chimes of the bell, Beetlejuice's mother opened the door wide. Brushing down her apron, she seemed happily flustered. "Junior! Lydia! We're so glad y'could make it." She greeted, ushering them in eagerly. "Off with your shoes, both of- actually, Junior, you keep yours on, dear. Wipe them clean before you come in," With that, Bea turned and made her way back inside.  
>Beetlejuice didn't know whether to laugh or frown, and begrudgingly began half-heartedly wiping his shoes on the mat. Then, he and Lydia stepped into the spotless living room, observing Nat sitting on the sofa at the opposite end of the room with a newspaper in-hand.<p>

"Nat, dear, Junior and Lydia are here," Bea called to him, wiping her hands in the pocket of her apron before heading to the kitchen. "Now, then, I'm going to get started with dinner,"  
>"Oh, let me help you," Lydia offered, to which Beetlejuice practically squealed in objection. She couldn't leave him <em>alone <em>with his dad, that would leave him susceptible to all kinds of nagging and boring conversations.  
>He hoped his mother would politely decline the offer. She didn't.<br>"Courteous as always, dear. Come on in, you can help with the soup,"

"_Soup_? Blarghhhhh," Beetlejuice scoffed.  
>Lydia levied him a firm look before heading into the kitchen after Bea, leaving him alone with his father.<br>As soon as the women were out of earshot Nat lowered his newspaper, staring at his son with an indiscernible expression on his face.  
>An uncomfortable moment passed before Beetlejuice found the strength to crack a wry smile. "Hi-i, Dad," He greeted weakly.<br>"Junior," Nat acknowledged.

Beetlejuice imagined he heard a cricket chirping in the background.  
>"Um... how's it goin'?" He spoke slowly in a struggling bid to make conversation, shifting awkwardly where he stood.<br>Nat's brows creased together. "Fine,"  
>He glanced back down at his paper. "You need to lose some weight, son,"<p>

_Ah. _There it was. The criticism, the nagging, the same old chestnuts.  
>Beetlejuice deflated, hands subconsciously moving to rest on his plump abdomen. "Hey, I'm in shape. Round is a shape, Pa," He joked, but his father's lined expression didn't falter. "You'd have thought having a young woman for a partner would have made you want to present yourself a bit better," Nat sniffed.<p>

Beetlejuice gritted his teeth, the sharpness of this statement comparable to that of a wasp sting. He sighed, deflating all the more. Once again, his parents were succeeding in making him feel only about five years old.  
>So he had a bit of a pot belly going on still, he could lose it any time he <em>wanted<em>. The rest of him was still of an average-to-lean build.  
>Then again, at his father's words he recalled the first night he and Lydia had made love, recalled the shame he'd felt for his own body - a shame he hadn't known he'd suppressed. Lydia's dismissal of this shame had helped him not only ignore the problem, but forget he'd ever felt that way in the first place.<br>Maybe he had to cut back on the beetle-burgers after all...

Still smarting from his father's criticism, knowing more awaited him if he stuck around long enough to find out, Beetlejuice tried to think of an excuse that would keep him busy until dinner was served. After thinking about it, the best thing he could come up with was a fabricated, outright lie.  
>"Uh, anyways, Pa, I just remembered that I, uh, left the dog in the car at home. With the windows rolled up. Heh, gotta, uh, let that critter out-"<br>Nat looked over the top of his paper, his eyes narrowed suspiciously. "You don't have a dog, Junior," He said with some degree of accusation.  
>"I'm dogsittin' for my neighbour," Beetlejuice answered quickly. That <em>could<em> have been true, he'd been asked to dogsit Poopsie before. There was still a hole in his story however, and his father, sharp as anything, picked up on it. "Son, your car's a convertible. It doesn't have a roo-" Nat stopped. Beetlejuice had already disappeared.

The guilt that hit Nat at that moment made him sink back into the sofa and crumple his newspaper in his large hands, lowering it to his lap. Despite all of his nagging, he had a soft spot for his eldest son, and running his mouth off with criticisms was the only way he knew how to show it. He scratched his hairline beneath his cap and exhaled heavily.

"_Beej! How many slugs do you want in your soup-?_" Lydia called from the kitchen. Waiting for a response, and receiving none, she curiously stepped through the archway that divided the two rooms. Noting Beetlejuice's absence, she shook her head in disbelief. "... Where'd he disappear off to this time?"  
>Nat sighed and stood up, folding his newspaper away to tuck it under his arm. "Who knows?"<br>He stepped over to Lydia and patted her on the shoulder. He wanted to say it was his fault Beetlejuice had gone, wanted to say he'd opened his mouth without thinking first, but instead what came out was: "You've got your work cut out with Junior,"

Lydia didn't take it to heart. She could only smile. "I know," She said. She'd always known.  
>Nat smiled back, and Lydia could have sworn his expression was one of gratitude. "You're good for him," He said, before retreating upstairs.<p>

Stood alone in the living room, the young woman contemplated these last parting words for a long, lingering moment. The compliment, for it definitely was a compliment, made her feel so completely at ease yet at the same time let her mind wander off into daydreams. Yes, yes, they were good together, weren't they?

Heading back towards the kitchen, she stopped mid-step. A thought occurred to Lydia, a silly thought, but a valid one nonetheless.  
>Nat hadn't said that Beetlejuice was good for <em>her<em>.


	3. Chapter 3

****A/N:** **I think I should warn in advance: this fanfiction will be flashback and 'background' intensive. There may be a flashback in every other chapter, as this fic is a bit more exploratory(?) than the prequel.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Three<strong>

As Lydia headed back into the kitchen, her mind wandered. Thinking both on what Nat had said (and not said) as well as reservations she'd since discounted about her relationship with Beetlejuice, she quietly pulled up a chair at the dining table and sat down.  
>Resting her head in her hands, Lydia smiled faintly. She'd already decided that Nat hadn't meant anything by what he'd said, and decided too that there wasn't anything to worry about. After all, she was perfectly happy with Beetlejuice. Even if her relationship with him threw into doubt whatever future she could realistically have in the 'real world', she didn't care; she'd realized that that was a sacrifice she would have to make whenever the time was right. The good thing about having a boyfriend (though maybe 'manfriend' was more appropriate) that was already dead was that she knew she'd never experience the pain of losing him, or, at least, was less likely to. She wouldn't ever see him grow old… see him suffer… see him die. It didn't mean he was invincible, but it was something.<br>What was more, she could be who she really was with Beetlejuice. She didn't have to hide or try to be 'normal'; the two of them were like peas in a pod. He understood her on a level that no one else had been able to understand her, in a way that she was positive no other boy or man could.

Bea, busily pouring a cookie dough mix into a tray ready to bake them fresh for dessert, began murmuring to herself about the dinner preparations. After putting the baking tray into the oven, she focused her attention back on the soup.  
>"How many slugs did Junior want, Lydia, dear?" She asked without turning.<p>

Jerked from her thoughts, Lydia glanced up. "Huh?" Then, remembering what it was she'd gone in search of Beetlejuice for, she sat back in her seat. "Oh. He's just gone to check on something, Bea, but in his case I say the more the better,"  
>Mrs. Juice nodded and began spooning semi-cooked slugs into Beetlejuice's portion of soup, keeping his bowl almost comically separate from the other three.<p>

The silence returned as Lydia began daydreaming once more, and, noticing the quiet, Bea misinterpreted the girl's distance as restless concern. "Don't worry, Lydia, dear. Junior sometimes just gets a little..." She trailed off, struggling to remember the right term.  
>"... claustrophobic?" Lydia put in helpfully.<br>"Ah, yes, that was the word I was looking for." Bea stirred the slug-less container of soup. "He doesn't mean anything by it, he's probably just having a walk to clear his head."  
>Lydia nodded. "I know." She hadn't been worrying about him as such, but now that the subject had come up it prompted a question in her mind that wouldn't allow itself to be squashed down. Beetlejuice hated visiting his parents. Why? It was clear he cared about them, though, granted, he was too stubborn to confess so out loud. It couldn't just be because his parents had a tendency to nag, and it couldn't just be because his mother was a lean, mean, cleaning machine.<br>Lydia turned her chair to face the oven and kitchen countertop where Bea was working with her back to her, lips pursed.

"Bea..." She began carefully. "Why doesn't he visit you more often?"  
>If Beetlejuice's mother was surprised by the peculiar question, she didn't show it. She shrugged her shoulders daintily, beginning to spoon soup into the remaining three bowls. "Oh, I suppose it reminds him too much of when we were all in the Outerworld, Lydia. You know. Alive."<p>

The young woman shook her head in disbelief. "And that's a bad thing?"  
>Bea didn't reply.<p>

Retreating back into her thoughts, Lydia wondered what the Juice family's lives had been like in the Outerworld; whether they'd lived in Connecticut, whether they'd been happy, whether they were as old as they sometimes made themselves out to be. She'd always suspected that Beetlejuice had a tendency to lie about how long he'd been dead, even since she was twelve. He'd changed his story so many times, sometimes claiming he'd been six centuries dead and sometimes four, but for someone who had supposedly come from such a time-period he didn't act the part.  
>Maybe he'd always been trying to impress her? Or… maybe he'd always been lying to <em>himself<em>.

Though Lydia knew everything about the Beetlejuice _she _knew and loved, she didn't know anything about who he was 'before'. Sometimes, and increasingly often lately, she'd wonder about the man he used to be. Realising there was a real opportunity here to learn now that she and his mother were alone, Lydia cleared her throat. "Bea... about Beetlejuice…"

"Hmm? What about Junior, dear?" Bea hummed sweetly.  
>Though Lydia hadn't quite decided what she'd been about to ask her, at the use of 'Junior' and the outright dismissal of using his name, she pounced.<br>"His name. What's his name, Bea?" She asked with a strong sense of urgency. Lydia had long since figured out that 'Beetlejuice' wasn't the name he'd been born with. She supposed this was as good a starting question as any, and it was one that had bugged her since the SOMFN family event all those months ago.

Beetlejuice's mother paused before glancing at Lydia over her shoulder, her face crumpled up with a bemused but amiable smile. "Why, Lydia, what an odd question. You know his name, dear," She turned back to the kitchen countertop, blissfully unaware, believing her answer had brought that line of questioning to an end.  
>Lydia didn't let the subject drop, leaning forward in her chair, the words tumbling out of her mouth with barely a breath in-between. "But it's not 'Beetlejuice', is it? Not really. What was the name <em>you <em>gave him? When he was born?"

For a moment Bea hesitated. She glanced at Lydia, half-concerned and half-confused. "But… you know that, dear,"  
>At her insistence that she knew his name, Lydia found herself becoming increasingly frustrated. <em>How <em>did she know it? Was she supposed to? Was Bea assuming that he'd told her?  
>"I mean when he was alive. Topside." She maintained, but when Bea hesitated for a moment longer, Lydia downright pleaded. "<em>Bea<em>?"

The loveable crone, busy clearing away and mopping down the kitchen surfaces, finally paused thoughtfully and turned. She looked politely puzzled. After deliberating, she finally said: "… B. Junior,"  
>Lydia stared at her.<br>Due to gender default, she assumed Bea had meant the initial and letter 'B' and not her own name.

"B… Junior?" Lydia repeatedly dumbly, this revelation having both stunned and reassured her. "_B. J._?"  
>"I thought you knew, dear," Mrs. Juice said simply, going back to her cleaning ritual while she let the piping hot soup cool.<p>

Suddenly Lydia knew why Bea had assumed she'd known; wasn't she always calling him 'B. J.' anyway? Bea hadn't known that Lydia had always used that as a nickname, not in reference to any _real_ name.  
>Still trying to get her mind around this truth, she decided to probe a little more. "So… what does the 'B' stand for?"<p>

Bea, after having tested the soup, waved her hands over the kitchen counter in a cheesy 'abracadabra' fashion. Lydia was surprised when a hotplate appeared into reality, she'd never seen Beetlejuice's mother use her 'juice' before, except for the occasional head-spin.  
>Bea placed the bowls of soup on the hotplate before working on the main course, still answering Lydia despite all the distractions. "Oh, nothing exactly, dear. Nat and I couldn't pick which of his grandfathers to name him after, they're both 'B's, you see? Thought that'd be the best option. Keep 'em both happy."<p>

"I see…" Lydia nodded her head slowly in understanding. If he was named after his grandfathers (though, not entirely) then that explained the 'Junior' part. Her curiosity, however, wasn't yet completely sated. "So then… why did he change his name? Why 'Beetlejuice'?"

So engrossed in this conversation, Lydia didn't realize that that was the third time she'd said his name. As Bea began to loudly prepare dinner, neither heard the 'poof' and bewildered – "bwuuh?" – that came from the next room.

Bea let out a chuckle, bending down to check on how the cookies were doing in the oven. "He always was a little eccentric. It's a star, Lydia."

Lydia hummed an affirmative in knowing acknowledgement. She remembered a time when, not too many years ago, she and Beetlejuice had sat out on rickety lawn chairs on her bedroom balcony, staring out at the cloudless midnight sky. He'd 'juiced up a telescope and pointed out the constellations to her in his vague, brash way, before zoning in on Orion's Belt and then up to Betelgeuse – the conveniently apt 'armpit' of the constellation.

Lydia had turned to him, grinning, amused by his enthusiasm. "_If you're named after the star then you realise you spell it wrong, Beej?"  
>"Naw, babes. It's my own spin on it.<em>" He'd winked. "_Besides… I only spell it the –" _Cue 'sophisticated B. J.' – "_'scientifically correct' way when I'm bein' professional."  
>"You mean: when you're conning someone,"<br>"Bin-go,"_

Lydia smiled at the memory, twisting a curled strand of hair around her finger. "So then… where did the liking beetles part come from? I mean – what came first? His sense of taste or the name?"  
>"AHEM,"<br>She almost jumped at the sudden interruption. Lydia spun around in her seat, only to then register the sight of Beetlejuice, stood directly behind her with his fists on his hips.  
>More than a little surprised, Lydia asked coolly: "What are you doing back here?"<p>

Beetlejuice let out a deep breath through his nose. "You said the B-words. It works here too, Lyds."  
>The young woman blinked. <em>I did? Three times? <em>She tried mentally counting, but it was no good, the words that she'd spoken had all blended together in her mind. She didn't worry so much about it – he was here, that was what mattered, and that was a relief in itself.  
>"Aheh, right, sorry," She said sheepishly, guilt clear on her face. Beetlejuice accurately interpreted this guilt as being due to the fact that they'd been talking about him, not that she'd accidentally called him from wherever he'd been hiding. His mother was smiling in that warm, giddy way that mother's smile whenever praising their children. His stomach turned, eyes twitching. "Lemme guess- you're about to get out the embarrassing baby photos,"<p>

Lydia batted her eyelashes, her voice laced with mocking sweetness. "No, not yet." She replied brightly, before, more seriously: "Are you going to answer my question?"

Beetlejuice pulled up the chair at the table beside her. "Mind repeatin' it?"

"What came first? Your taste for beetles, or your name?"

The ghost snorted. "Name, o'course,"  
>"Well...?" Lydia prompted.<br>"Well what?"  
>Cupping her chin in her hands, she eagerly scooted forwards. "Aren't you going to tell me the story?"<br>Her face then was almost as it had been all those years ago, so innocent but so smart, craving to hear his fanciful tales, eyes shining with the promise of what was to come.

Beetlejuice smirked. "Heh. You've always eaten up my stories, babes," Nevertheless, the real story wasn't one he was sure he wanted to tell. Steeling himself, deciding where to begin, he tilted back in his chair and gestured with his hand vaguely. "Well… it went like this…"

* * *

><p>Beetlejuice had just started kindergarten, and after a week had already developed a bad reputation. He was loud, disobedient, tardy and didn't fit in well with the other kids. What was worse, he was picked on, all because he had the Neitherworld version of 'magic'. He <em>had <em>been pegged as a 'gifted and talented' child on account of it, but he wasn't fulfilling his potential at all.

This particular morning, he'd joined a game of chase with the other kids, but somehow they'd tricked him and caught him.  
>He was sat in 'jail', which for this particular recess was beneath the decayed, semi-rotten picnic benches on the playground. A guard was sat on the tabletop, legs dangling in Beetlejuice's line of vision, and two more were posted at either end of the bench, effectively locking him in.<p>

Beetlejuice glowered, hands on his scratched, bare knees. "I counted. My time's up now,"  
>The bully in front of him let out a rude snort. "You can get out when we say you can,"<p>

Whilst Beetlejuice didn't mind the dirt and the dark in this prison, he didn't like the being shut-in part. Stomach rumbling, he squirmed uncomfortably.  
>"I haven't eaten my lunch yet. Recess is almost over,"<br>"Here," The bully sat on top of the bench said. He pulled a fistful of... _things_ out of his coat pocket before dropping them between the slats of the picnic table.  
>Almost immediately, Beetlejuice felt something crawling in his hair. He glanced up casually. The thing travelled down to his forehead, and, curious, he plucked it from his brow. It was a beetle, and he was now covered in them.<p>

Whilst Beetlejuice watched them in quiet wonder, the boy blocking his exit sneered. "_They're_ your lunch, 'Beetlejuice',"  
>The young blond ghoul stuck out his tongue in revulsion. "Yucghh!"<br>"What? Are you too chicken?" The guard behind him said in vicious challenge.  
>Beetlejuice shook his head from side to side fervently, his hands balled up into fists atop his knees. "I'm not chicken! Lemme outta here,"<p>

"Eat a beetle first,"  
>"<em>You<em> eat one!"  
>"Don't talk back," The boy behind him growled, slapping him on the back of his head.<p>

_Y'ouch! _Beetlejuice vented internally, too stubborn to cry out loud. Then, glancing down at the insects, he wrinkled up his nose and reluctantly picked up a beetle. It squirmed between his fingers sadly. Ugh, it was _moving_. He wasn't afraid of bugs though - he _liked _bugs, that was the whole problem. The idea of eating one instead of playing with one was inconceivable.

"Come on, chicken." The bully before him sneered. "Aren't ya called 'Beetlejuice' for a reason?"  
>"It's a star," Beetlejuice mumbled beneath his breath obstinately, but the other boys weren't listening.<p>

"Go on, eat it,"  
>"Yeah, eat it!"<br>"EAT IT!"

Something inside of the juvenile Beetlejuice snapped. The peer pressure proving too much for him, he jerked his head up, practically snarling in his rage. "Look, why don't you guys just _take off_?" He cried. Not a split-second after the words had left his mouth, rockets appeared on the heels of the three boys' feet. All four of the kindergarteners had time to look shocked before the bullies blasted off and zoomed high into the air, the force of their ascension causing the picnic bench to keel over onto one side, wooden surface blistering from the heat of the rockets.

Watching as the three bullies become mere specks on the horizon, Beetlejuice gulped.  
><em>Uh oh...<em>  
>He would be in detention for the rest of the year, if not for the rest of his <em>afterlife<em> for this.

Scrambling out from between the legs of the capsized table, Beetlejuice was surprised to find the beetle was still in his hand. In his panic at having unwittingly unleashed his 'juice' he'd half-squished the poor thing to death.  
>Watching the beetle writhe, doomed, in his grasp, he strived to make a decision on its behalf. Should he let it go, and let it suffer, or put it out of its misery?<br>As he bent down to put it on the ground, he recalled his sneering 'prison guards' and what was left of his dissipating blood boiled.

_Me? Chicken? _He scoffed. _Ha! I'll show 'em!  
><em>Then he did the unthinkable: he slammed his eyes shut, popped the insect into his mouth and began to chew.

Beetlejuice's scrunched up face at first tightened before, swallowing the beetle down, his expression released, one eye opening. _Hey. It… doesn't taste so bad_.

He glanced down at his leg, where he spotted another one was crawling. Straightening, he caught that one and ate it too, this time without any hesitation.  
>Feeling a tickle on his elbow, he caught the bug he knew was there and raised it to his mouth. Now a crowd had formed around him - horrified, morbidly curious fellow kindergarteners that were watching this spectacle with a mixture of awe and disgust. Before he could place this third bug on his tongue, the playground teacher acting as chaperone blew on the whistle around her neck and stormed over. "BEETLEJUICE!" She bellowed, dispersing the crowd. "DETENTION!"<p>

Beetlejuice pocketed the uneaten beetle quickly. "Save _that _guy for later," He had time to say, before the teacher was dragging him backwards towards the pre-school building by the collar of his t-shirt.

From that recess on, Beetlejuice became both the class clown and a playground spectacle to behold. Dared to eat beetles during each and every recess, it wasn't long before it stopped being an act to impress the other kids and became second-nature.

* * *

><p>"… And so I singlehandedly taught the class my version of bug-o-nomit-ryy and beetles were soon given out <em>every<em> recess." Beetlejuice finished, grinning arrogantly.  
>Lydia, cheek cupped in her palm, could only stare at him critically with lidded, suspicious eyes. "Really?"<p>

Beetlejuice, still precariously leaning back in his chair so that it balanced on two legs, nodded fervently. "I'm tellin' ya, babes. I started a trend,"

Lydia wanted to set the record straight. "So you're telling me that you weren't the only kid who ate beetles? That you first ate one _because_ you 'didn't want the school to get in trouble with the inspectors for being 'unhygienic' when you saw one? Is _that _what you're telling me?" She threw back at him, picking out the highlights of the version of the story he'd told her.  
>Beetlejuice desperately tried to recall if those were the details of the tale he'd just spun her and, when satisfied that they were, he nodded. "Uh... Right!"<p>

A corner of Lydia's lip quirked upwards into a cynical smile. "Doesn't sound like you, though, does it?"  
>The ghost chuckled nervously, blundering his way out of her accusations. "I was a cute lil tyke," He bluffed.<br>Lydia gave up, rolling her eyes. "Right. Of course you were,"

Bea, no longer patiently half-listening and half-working, whipped around. "Dinner's ready!" She announced cheerfully, before gesturing to her son. "Junior, call your father in,"  
>"'Your father in'!" Beetlejuice yelled in the direction of the door.<br>Lydia, who'd been sipping at a glass of water she'd retrieved midway through Beetlejuice's storytelling, nearly spat it out in her sudden laughter. "Beetlejuice!"  
>With the joke cracked, he corrected himself. "PA! Food's on!" He called instead, sitting properly in his chair at last.<p>

After heavy footsteps travelled their way down the stairs, Nat, towering in height as per usual, appeared in the archway. He ducked into the kitchen-diner before pulling up a chair opposite Beetlejuice and Lydia.  
>When everyone was seated, Bea retrieved the soup bowls from the hotplate and placed them down at the four table sittings before taking her own seat.<p>

"So what are you two doing with yourselves lately?" She asked as everyone began tucking into their starters, smiling brightly at the two on the opposite side of the table.  
>Slurping loudly, shoulders hunched over his bowl, Beetlejuice answered with his mouth full of both slug and soup. "We're goin' on vacation in the morning, Ma,"<br>Bea, wanting to scold him for his manners but deciding he was too old for her to do so, simply said: "How wonderful,"

Nat frowned. "Son, how are you paying for this vacation? How many times do I have to tell you to–"  
>"–'get a job'?" Beetlejuice finished for him. "I've got the money, Pops, that's all that matters,"<br>"What he means is, my parents are paying," Lydia put in dryly.

Bea clasped her hands together, smiling wistfully. "Oh, Lydia, dear, we'd _love_ to meet your parents," She said with feeling.  
>Beetlejuice and Lydia both raised their heads simultaneously, expressions of intermingled horror and surprise.<br>"Uh…" B. J. began, but Lydia got there first. "I- I'm not sure that's a good idea. Um, yet anyway." She said as carefully as she could.  
>"Bein' breathers an' all," Beetlejuice said.<br>"Right. They don't really know the whole story."  
>B. J. snorted, slurping down another spoonful of his starter. "What <em>she <em>means is, they don't know I'm a dead guy,"

Lydia flinched. She hated keeping secrets from her parents, and she hated that this was a secret even Beetlejuice thought she should no longer keep.  
>"You don't have to put it so bluntly," She said, hurt.<br>She didn't mention to Nat or Bea that her parents also didn't know that she was with someone so much older than her. As far as her parents were concerned, she was with a young B. J. Beetleman, and not Nat and Bea's son at all. She didn't want the Juices to think that she was ashamed of Beetlejuice, because that wasn't the truth at all. It was just that this way… this way was _easier_.

"Oh, I see," Bea hummed in understanding, causing Lydia to feel another stab of guilt. She smiled at them both over the table. "Well, it would be nice to see them at some _point_. You have to let the truth come out some time, dear. These things have to be done properly. In-laws meeting the in-laws and all that, dear, before there's those wedding bells,"

"PFFTTTTT-" Beetlejuice spat out his soup just as Lydia dropped her spoon with a sudden clatter.  
>"<em>Ma<em>!" He shrieked, his face turning scarlet.  
>Nat, who'd been quietly sipping away until now, turned to his wife and shook his head disappointedly. "Now, now, Bea, don't embarrass 'em..."<p>

"Can't blame an old lady for trying," Bea simply said, upbeat as ever.

Lydia began to laugh nervously, her cheeks hot. Fidgeting and stealing glances at Beetlejuice, she waited for the uncomfortable tension in the room to dissipate. It didn't. Beetlejuice was too much of an idiot to let the subject drop without getting the last word.  
>"Don't ya think that's a little soon, Ma?" He squeaked, voice hoarse.<p>

Bea shrugged, finishing her starter. "Well, I don't know, you've known each other for years,"

_And for most of those years I was a minor… _Lydia thought with some degree of unease.

Insensitive as ever, Beetlejuice slurped up the remainders of his soup and belched loudly. "Yeah, and we've only got all _eternity,_" He objected before glancing at Lydia, silently both asking for her support in the matter and confirming that he was speaking for both of them. Lydia, however, felt more than a little contrary; she didn't exactly _want_ to wait all of eternity before she got married.

Bea sighed, defeated. "Don't listen to an old fuddy-duddy like me, dear." Beginning to collect up the empty bowls, she shook her head softly, reverting to her wistful-mother mode. "I just can't help wanting to see my two boys find nice girls and get settled. And - just think! - to hear the pitter-patter of little, tiny f—" Bea remembered too late that the majority of the room was occupied by the deceased. She closed her mouth abruptly, and, feeling wretched, let out a deep breath while excusing herself from the table.

If the atmosphere had been tense before it had solidified now.

"Oh, now, Bea–" Nat began, worriedly.  
>"No, no- excuse me, I said the wrong thing. Let me just get the dinner plated,"<p>

Beetlejuice and Lydia remained so quiet that Nat chanced a look at them.  
>Beetlejuice had gone into some short of shock at the idea because his eyes were bugged and his expression was frozen rather comically. Lydia, however, was staring down at her table setting intensely. She felt like she'd just been struck around the face.<br>The first sign of 'life' from Beetlejuice was a bewildered blink. He hadn't heard his mother use the 'when am I going to be a grandmother?' line since he was alive.

He rested his chin in his hand, face unsympathetic but his tone cautiously soft. "Ain't gonna happen, Ma. Once yer dead it's kind of a done deal,"

Lydia winced, as though this fact had only just truly hit home. _That's right... I wouldn't be able to have kids with Beetlejuice. _

She wasn't sure how she felt about this. She had never _wanted_ kids, but then she had never _not _wanted kids either. In fact, she quite liked children, but the thought of having a family one day had just... never come to her.  
>Hadn't she already disregarded any 'normal' future she could have? What happened to willingly making that sacrifice in order for the two of them to be together? Just when she thought she could accept the prospect of never being a mother, something inside really hurt.<p>

Bea, composed, returned with four plates full of dinner. "Now, Junior, you can never say never," She tried to say bravely. "They were running this article in _Afterlife _magazine about what happens to women who pass over when they're expecting..."  
>For some reason his mother's continued thoughts on this subject were making Beetlejuice cross. It made him feel... <em>inferior, <em>not to mention that he was pretty sure this was an uncomfortable conversation to be having in front of Lydia, especially so early in their relationship. "Look, even if I _wanted _to – some time way, way, _way_ in the eternal future – it ain't physically possible, Ma!" He snapped.

Without his realising it, his outcry had hurt more than anything Bea had said thus far._  
>'Even if I <em>wanted _to?' Implying he _doesn't_ want to? _Lydia thought, the voice of her conscience becoming increasingly shrill. _  
><em>She bowed her head.

"Excuse me," Lydia mumbled quietly. After pushing her seat back, she headed out of the room, concealing a crumpled expression as she went.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: **From here on out, the episode _In the Schticks _is heavily referenced. Also some movie references/background.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Four<strong>

Lydia had locked herself away in the upstairs toilet, needing the peace and quiet of this sanctuary in order to compose herself. She couldn't believe she'd almost broken down in front of the Juices, over something that wasn't even worth worrying about. Yet, anyway.  
>Splashing cold water on her face in order to snap herself out of thoughts that threatened to further ruin her mood, she clutched onto the sink basin as though it were a life line. The shock of the water didn't help, her thoughts still spoke to her louder than anything her ears could make out.<p>

"_Uh... babes_? _Y'in there?_" Beetlejuice's familiar voice, though muffled by the door, permeated the small, closet-sized bathroom, accompanied by a series of knocks. While Lydia was stood with her hands on the edge of the gleaming porcelain sink - which had no doubt been polished obscenely not an hour before she and Beetlejuice had arrived - she didn't so much ignore him as was unable to hear him all together. She was _away _from the present, incapable of registering anything her senses in the here and now picked up.

Knock, knock, knock.

"_Lyds_?"

Finally, Lydia's ears signalled to her brain that she was being asked after, and she jolted back to reality. Realising she'd still been running the tap but hadn't bothered to put her hands under the steady flow of water, she shook her head and began to act through the motions of washing them, dazed.  
>"I-I'll be right out. Just… Just gimme a minute," She called towards the door, hoping that would be enough.<br>It wasn't.  
>"<em>You okay in there?<em>" Beetlejuice pressed, sounding baffled more so than concerned.

Now, that was a good question.

Lydia stared at her reflection in the bathroom mirror above the basin, noticing how dark her eyes had become yet how red her face was, as though something had both angered and upset her and the more she thought about it the more torn she became.

"I'm fine," She said shortly, before turning off the tap, drying her hands and unlocking the bathroom door.  
>Beetlejuice, fist still raised in the air ready to knock again, was stood with an expression on his face of such uncomfortable amusement that it did well to disguise the real unease he felt.<p>

"Sorry I skipped dinner," Lydia apologised, brushing back her dark hair as he gave her room to pass.  
>Beetlejuice's brows furrowed as she stepped past him towards the stairwell, watching her closely in an effort to figure her out. Lydia wasn't the type to cause scenes - not that her leaving the table could really be called a 'scene'. Still, it was almost uncharacteristic, and it bothered him.<br>"Babes, did... Ma say somethin' to upset ya?"

"No, no." Lydia smiled sweetly, easily bandaging up her wounds. She didn't want him to worry about her unnecessarily. "I, uh, just needed the bathroom," She further excused, deciding that was a good enough alibi. Not stopping to wait for his response, she began to descend downstairs, hoping that she was composed enough so that the tense atmosphere she'd walked out on would dissipate entirely when she rejoined the dinner table. Without her knowing, however, something about the way she still carried herself expressed an infinite sadness, and even an insensitive Beetlejuice picked up on it. He wasn't going to let her paper over the cracks that easily, not for his sake.

"Listen, babes, if it was about what we were talkin' about–"

"It wasn't," Lydia said quickly. Too quickly for it to be the truth.

Taking a surrendering step backwards, eyes never leaving her as he watched her continue on down the stairs, Beetlejuice collected himself. "O…kay. Whatever you say, babes. But-"  
>"B. J.," Lydia turned, tone commanding. "I'm <em>okay<em>," The smile she then gave him was almost enough to make him believe her, but not quite. She was giving the subject a wide, wide berth.  
>Beetlejuice pouted as she turned around once more, not checking to see if he was following.<p>

What was her problem? After watching her straighten, relax and come back to herself, Beetlejuice soon came to the conclusion that the problem wasn't actually with Lydia at all, but with _him_. She was a young, beautiful woman with her whole life ahead of her. It didn't matter that she was a strange and unusual kind of girl, because that didn't effect the fact that she, of course, wanted a 'normal' future – marriage, _kids_ – the latter something he would realistically never be able to give her, not unless there was some kind of Neitherworldian cure, answer or substitute. After all, the dead couldn't - _can't_ - create _**life**_. Even Neitherworld babies were, sadly and morbidly, babies that had died in the Outerworld, or Reset adults in the early stages of their afterlives. As far as Beetlejuice knew, nobody had ever _had _a child here.

Unbeknownst to him, Lydia had been doing her own share of thinking. Once they'd reached the bottom of the stairs she finally decided to confront him about it, but, unsure of how to phrase the question, she began rubbing her elbow anxiously. "... B. J., I thought if you got married then the parameter-restrictions that the Bureau and Council set for you would be- removed?"

"Bwuhh?" Beetlejuice blinked, taken aback by this sudden question. As it happened, Lydia wasn't far off the mark. If he got married, then the 'curse of the three 'Bs'' would finally no longer apply. But, in truth, he hadn't even thought about that being the case for a long time. It was amusing, really. Finally, now that he had somebody he really loved, he was no longer in such a rush. Beetlejuice shrugged vaguely. "Well, uh, they would,"

Confused, unable to read his mind, Lydia tipped her head on one side. "So then why the 'eternity' speech? I thought you'd want to get out of it as soon as you could?"  
>Beetlejuice tried to laugh, the serious angle of this conversation getting to him. "Ah, come on, Lyds..." He began, but Lydia, obviously disheartened, folded her arms. "Or are you just too comfortable with your bachelor lifestyle?"<br>The ghost shook his head in fervent objection. "Look, all I'm sayin' is that we– _**I **_tried that before, fer the wrong reasons. It ain't the sorta thing to rush, babes. We're gonna do this our own way,"

Lydia hadn't expected him to be able to give her a 'right' answer, a _good, _comforting one. But... he had. She smiled brightly. "Properly?"  
>"Exactly,"<br>Why this was coming up in conversation so earnestly after being together for only a handful of months wasn't explicitly mentioned. After all, their relationship was never going to be a fair-weather, short-term affair so, in a way, it had always been a given. Still, Beetlejuice would have been lying if he had said he didn't feel overwhelmingly glad that Lydia was taking this topic so seriously. He'd never thought he'd see the day when a beautiful woman would marry _him. _Not because of some con job, not because she was forced to, but because she _wanted _to, because she accepted and loved him. And that… that meant more than words could say.  
>Matter of fact, the idea of the whole 'settled down' family thing had always terrified him, but the thought of having that with Lydia was... was actually not so bad. As it happened, the idea was quite welcome. ... Shame about the 'no sprogs' part though.<p>

Beetlejuice frowned.  
>"Lyds…"<p>

"Yeah?" She prompted expectantly.

Now, under the pressure of her gaze, Beetlejuice toed the ground uncomfortably, his courage failing.  
>It could wait until later. Much, much later. Besides, she'd already said she didn't want to talk about it.<p>

Thinking better of it, he shook his head. "Y'know what? Never mind, babes. Uh. After dinner," He said, though he had no intention of bringing it up again. Beetlejuice didn't want to discuss family plans when there was no family to plan, and, by pretending there could be, give Lydia false-hope. That sadness that had been in her eyes hurt far too much to behold a second time.

* * *

><p>First thing the next morning, clustered at the foot of the porch steps, the Deetzs were sat with their suitcases strewn around them.<br>Lydia, perched on hers, glanced around with nervous excitement. Her stomach was knotting up but it wasn't entirely unpleasant. She and Beetlejuice were going on vacation _together_. Well, yes, they had done so together many times before, it had always been just as friends. Due to the fact that her parents were in tow, it wasn't picture-perfect, but it was as good as could be expected for now. Lydia felt both thrilled and anxious at the thought of sneaking around behind her parents' backs; she wasn't sure which feeling was stronger.

This was the first time they'd gone away as a family for longer than a weekend with Mr Beetleman, and Charles' nerves were piqued. He'd just managed to convince himself that the handy-man wasn't coming when a lime-green coupe honked its horn and appeared on the winding road from town.  
>Lydia jumped up from where she'd been sitting on her suitcase, waving frantically as the car pulled up the drive.<p>

Parking and switching off the ignition, Beetlejuice leant out of the driver's seat, grinning in greeting. "Go-od mornin', funsters. All packed an' ready to go?"

"You bet! I call shotgun," Lydia announced, placing her suitcase in Doomie's trunk. As she walked her way around to the passenger side she gave her sentient car a light pat. "_Hey, Doomie_," She whispered. The only response he could give was a delighted smile.

After depositing their luggage too, Charles and Delia climbed into the backseat; Delia eager while Charles with dread.

"Y'ready, babes?" Beetlejuice asked Lydia as she buckled herself in. She looked at him, face bright, and nodded once. "Uh huh,"  
>Then, Doomie restarted of his own accord ready for Beetlejuice to put him into gear. Gunning the engine, they drove off towards the out-of-town highway, but didn't get far enough, for, at the first tunnel they met, Lydia muttered the three B-words under her breath. And then, at the end of the tunnel, they were no longer in Peaceful Pines, but deep, deep in the Neitherworld, heading for the Hotel du Yell.<p>

Cruising down the Lost Souls Highway, Doomie's wheels remained planted firmly on the ground to avoid arousing the Deetzs' suspicion. Every now and then, Lydia glanced back at her stepmother and her father, but soon relaxed and enjoyed the ride.  
>The Neitherworld was stifling hot, almost tropical, and Lydia could even see the air ripple with the intensity of the heat.<br>They drove out of town, avoided the Neitherwoods, taking an all together new route that Lydia had never seen before. Doomie eventually pulled off of the Lost Souls Highway and then onto a slip of road that wound through the desert.

Lydia turned to Beetlejuice curiously. "This looks… different," She appraised.  
>"This vacation, baby, I'm taking you places you've <em>never <em>been before," He grinned back lecherously, his striped tongue licking his lips as his eyebrows waggled in a highly suggestive manner. It was clear he wasn't talking about the resort. It was also clear he'd forgotten that Charles and Delia were in the backseat.  
>Lydia turned scarlet.<br>Luckily for them both it appeared that Charles and Delia hadn't heard him over the roar of Doomie's tires.

"Um, 'Mr Beetleman'…" Lydia scolded tightly.

"Ahaha.. slip of the tongue, Lyds," Beetlejuice excused, removing his hands from the steering wheel to shrug with them apologetically. His tongue slid out from between his lips before dropping into his lap, writhing like a fish out of water. "Oops," He managed to say as he glanced down at it, even without it in his head.  
>Lydia panicked. "Ah…!" She grabbed his tongue from his lap, shoved it in his mouth, and glared at him as his hands settled back down onto the steering wheel.<p>

Whilst he'd taken his hands off of the wheel, Doomie had of course still been driving straight. Unfortunately, Charles had noticed. "D-D-Does your car have s-s-s-some kind of autodrive function, B-Beetleman?" He stammered.  
>The ghost relatively kept his cool aside from speaking a little faster than he should. "Uh… yes, sir! Just in case you fall asleep at the ol' wheel. Y'know… for that sorta thing,"<br>"What _will_ they think of next?" Lydia chipped in.  
>Charles stifled a whimper, sinking back in his seat. "Hopefully something for my nerves…"<p>

They drove the rest of the way in relative silence, save for the sounds of The Rolling Kidney Stones' newest hit streaming from Doomie's radio. Pulling up finally outside of a large walled-off property that looked relatively high class from the gated entrance, the Deetzs sat up in their seats to try and get a good look at the building - the Hotel du Yell - beyond the fencing walls. The hotel, however, couldn't be seen from their position, and from here it looked as though even the double wrought iron gate separating them from the driveway was locked.  
>Beetlejuice felt a foreboding sinking feeling. He could've sworn that at least a few of the hotels' top floors should have been visible from this vantage point. Plus, why was the drive shut off?<p>

"Is it… _meant_ to be locked, Beet—ah, Mr Beetleman?" Lydia asked, weary.  
>"Ahah…" Beetlejuice didn't look as though he were so sure. He climbed out of the driver's side and headed up to the gate, eyeing the chains and padlock that adorned it with dread. A sign rested above the padlock, reading: "HOTEL CLOSED. PLEASE SEE RECEPTION FOR DETAILS."<br>_Uh oh_.

The chains only served as a visual warning, they wouldn't keep out any ghost. Besides, reception was still beyond the gate.  
>Turning back to the waiting family of three, Beetlejuice feigned a grin. "Aahahaha… I'll be, uh, back in a jiff!" He announced, backing up to the gate.<p>

Lydia, seeing his intentions, thought fast. She turned around and pointed at an expanse of land suddenly. "Look! It's um- uh… that _guy _from that _film_,"  
>"Who-? Where?" Delia whipped around, forcing Charles to too, giving Beetlejuice enough time to slip between the bars of the locked gate unnoticed. Beyond it, Beetlejuice found himself surrounded by a thick crowd of ghouls, all complaining and murmuring, some taking a diversion path sign-posted with 'SHUTTLE BUS: THIS WAY' notices.<br>So there was a bus tour group here? That wasn't an excuse to close off entry to the hotel, right? Right?

Beetlejuice hovered up and over the waiting ghouls' heads and towards the reception, where he'd driven up to the door only the day before. Except… reception wasn't even there anymore. In fact, the whole hotel was gone - in its place was a puddle of goo acres upon acres wide.  
>Beetlejuice's jaw dropped. "<em>WHAAAT<em>?" He cried, suppressing the urge to tug out his hair. He dropped down to the floor in his shock, trying not to panic.

Throwing back his head, Beetlejuice raised his voice. "Hey! Will someone tell me what's goin' on here?" He demanded to no one in particular.  
>His yelling caught the attention of the deadpan receptionist who'd served him less than twenty-four hours ago. The ghoul stepped out of the throng of complaining masses and looked up at him indifferently, offering an explanation. "The hotel is closed, sir,"<p>

Feeling cheated beyond belief, Beetlejuice balled his hands up into fists. "What'd'ya _mean _the hotel's closed?"  
>"We went into liquidation this morning, sir," The woman continued.<br>Beetlejuice looked up at the puddle of hotel-goo. It had gone into liquidation, all right. Literally.  
>At a loss, he struggled to process exactly what was going on. If the Hotel du Yell was no more, then that meant the entire vacation was <em>ruined<em>.  
>"But... we already paid! We have rooms booked!"<br>She shook her head gently. "Complimentary reservations have been made, sir, rest assured."

With this somewhat positive response, the ghost relaxed, wiping his brow. "Great. Well… where?"

"Our sister hotel: The Resort of Last Resort on the river Schticks."

"Well, that ain't so b-" _Wait. _Beetlejuice stopped what he'd been about to say, the information sinking in steadily.  
>The Resort of Last Resort? <em>The <em>resort?  
>His eye twitched.<p>

Within half-a-second a montage of memories flashed before his eyes: childhood scummer vacations, his overbearing aunt and uncle, humour so bad that you could get imprisoned for repeating it outside of the resort - his very idea of hell.  
>Now he did pull at his hair, incredulous. "<em>WHAAAT<em>?" He shrieked. "Forget it! I want the money back!"

The receptionist folded her arms, unsympathetic, and gave him the same speech she'd already given the crowd around them. "Afraid not. No refunds,"  
>"Yer kidding?" Beetlejuice practically begged in his desperation. There was no way his luck could be this bad- you couldn't <em>con<em> a _conman_. But... the woman's face was stony.

After desperately trying to talk his way out of the situation at hand, the receptionist finally walked away from him, leaving Beetlejuice with no choice but to begin the slow, humiliating walk back towards where Doomie and the Deetzs were waiting. His mood having plummeted through the floor, his shoulders were hunched, whole body sagging with disappointment. At the gate, he peeked between the wrought iron bars to see if Charles and Delia were looking. Satisfied they weren't, he then phased through to the other side.

Lydia was the first to spot he'd returned, and looked both relieved and excited to see him. That is, at least, until she registered the look on his face.  
>"What is it?" She asked, concerned, as he clambered back into the car beside her.<br>Beetlejuice didn't respond to her directly, but instead shifted in his seat and addressed his three passengers as a whole. "Sorry, got lost, heh. Wrong hotel, folks,"

Watching him as he turned back to the road, Lydia's heart sank. _So much for a luxurious week's vacation..._ She thought with an internal sigh. Then, noticing the beads of sweat that dotted Beetlejuice's brow, suspicion clawed at her. What was he so nervous about? How many Hotel du Yells were in the Neitherworld anyway? Something was fishy, and Lydia sensed impending trouble.  
>"Beetlejuice…." She said as a warning, raising an eyebrow.<p>

He flinched beside her, only to attempt to brush off her concern with a false laugh. "N-N-No sweat, baby, just a change of plan," He whispered back to her, voice wavering mid sentence. Then, out loud more generally: "O-kay, funsters. Almost there,"  
>Reluctantly, he pumped the ignition foot pedal and pulled back onto the main road. The memories getting to him, however, he knew he wouldn't be able to handle the rest of the journey there manually. Catching sight of a roofed bridge in the distance that crossed over a narrow, harmless tendril of the river Schticks, he headed for it. As soon as Doomie's back wheels were on the bridge, Beetlejuice snapped his fingers. Emerging on the other side, out of the desert and in the shadow of the Cat-Skull Mountains, Beetlejuice turned off onto a dirt track that came to an abrupt end beside a small jetty and a waiting ferry.<br>Much as Beetlejuice's instincts were to keep driving and never look back, he found himself numbly pressing the brakes, and Doomie pulled to a stop.  
>For better or for worse, they were here.<p>

Lydia raised her head, glancing around in silent wonder at where they'd be spending the next week. Then, upon spotting the ferry, river and the too-familiar golf course and recreation grounds on the other side of it, her eyes widened in incredulous horror. She whipped around to face Beetlejuice, gripping ahold of his arm. "_Here_?" She cried in a quiet but manic voice. "You booked _here_?"

Beetlejuice raised his hands in surrender, lip wobbling in shared concern. "Had no choice, Lyds,"

Having been about to argue with him, Lydia stopped and took a deep breath, the wheels of her mind turning in a dire attempt to make sense of the situation. Something had happened at that last hotel they'd passed, though what she couldn't be sure.  
>She hesitated, but was nevertheless the first to get out of the car, followed, then, closely by her parents. Beetlejuice was last, stooped cautiously low.<br>As The Deetzs removed their luggage, Lydia braced herself for the poor humour they would be exposed to for the rest of the vacation.

Allowing them to go on ahead towards the jetty, Beetlejuice remained behind long enough to 'give Doomie a pep talk', when really he was just stalling for time. He turned to the car, arms folded.  
>Doomie's 'face' was one of disappointment, something that Beetlejuice felt he had to rectify immediately. "Now listen, Doomaroo, I know ya think yer gettin' left behind but - trust me - yer the lucky one. Just be around in case of a quick getaway, got it?"<p>

The little coupe beeped in acknowledgement before driving back in the direction they'd come from, leaving them stranded.  
>Claustrophobic and trying not to let his memories get the best of him, Beetlejuice went to join the Deetzs over by the ferry - taking his sweet time about doing so.<p>

Charles was stood by a nine-foot-tall sign that both advertised the hotel and denoted the gathering point for departing, _departed_ passengers. As Beetlejuice approached him, Lydia's father began nervously eyeing the mucky river Schticks in obvious alarm. Much to Beetlejuice's dismay, a thick, viscous bubble had just burst on the surface of the running water.

"_What do you call a boo-merang that doesn't come ba-ack?" _A deep voice rose from the escaped pocket of air, the delivery of the set-up boring, to say the least. "... _A stick! A-a-haaa!_"

Charles yelped and backed away from the edge of the jetty, while Beetlejuice's face had screwed up in a distaste so intense that Lydia thought he was going to break out in a rash. He clapped his hands over his ears, gritting his teeth.

In a contented bubble of her own, Delia chuckled, enthusiastically already climbing aboard the boat. "My, what a funny place! They're even playing jokes on the ferry," She grinned, wheeling her case after her onto the bobbing craft.  
>Lydia was grateful, for what was perhaps the millionth time, that her stepmother was so naive. "Uh, yeah, Mom." She said, trying to encourage Charles to hurry up onto the boat too. "<em>Relaxing <em>isn't it, Father?"

Charles, trying to convince himself that Delia was right about the voice emanating from the speakers on the boat (not that he could see any speakers), was still glancing around himself in his usual state of worry. "We-Well I don't know, pumpkin, I-"  
>The river began to ripple and bubble once more, ready for a second round.<br>Unable to take a second joke so soon, Beetlejuice began desperately herding the Deetzs onto the ferry. "O-kay, let's get this show on the road, folks!" He cried, grabbing onto both of Charles' arms and pushing him in the direction of the boat. As soon as the other three were on, Beetlejuice made to clamber on after them.  
>Whilst he felt as though stepping on the boat was signing his death warrant (again), as soon as one foot was on, the other followed in an instant. He was already past the point of no return, and now he just wanted to get it over with.<p>

Unlike the last time he'd been here, the man in control of the ferry was a nondescript employee of the hotel, and not the beefy convict-turned-comic of yesteryear. The guy wore a name badge that read 'A. Cross', and had a face so lined with wrinkles that Beetlejuice couldn't tell if he was smiling or frowning.  
>"All aboard!" The old timer called, and, once everyone had settled, he navigated the boat away from the jetty.<p>

The ferry was, understandably, packed, as one Hotel du Yell shuttle had just unleashed a bunch of tourists onto it. The occupants, having crammed in, were now squashed together beneath the ferry's tented canopy, and Beetlejuice and Lydia soon found themselves pushed to the worst position of the boat: right beside the edge.  
>Not a minute later, water breaking against the sides of the ferry, Lydia heard: "<em>Where do y'find a one-legged dog? … Right where you le-eft it!"<em>

Resting her hands on the side, gazing down at the murky, uninviting water, Lydia bit her lip. Now she had butterflies in her stomach, and not the good kind; her nerves were all over the place.  
>"Are you sure about this, Beej?" She asked the ghost beside her, only half-turning, gaze locked on the water.<p>

No response.

"**_Beej?_**" She whispered again, furiously. When she received no response a second time she turned sharply around to face him, only to find that Beetlejuice had remained totally oblivious to what she'd just said. His long blond hair was parted around his slightly pointed ears enough for Lydia to see that he'd put in earplugs. She slapped the palm of her hand to her forehead.  
><em>Some help <em>you_ are.  
><em>Annoyed, she plucked one of the plugs right out of his ear. "Beetlejuice, don't be _ear-_itating. Would you please explain to me why we are now _here_, at a place we both can hardly stand, when the booking reference says–?"

He turned, despairing, but covered up his fear with brash rudeness, as he was so often guilty of doing. "It ain't my fault, all right? That stuck-up, good-for-nothin' hotel went bust!" Beetlejuice cried, brows drawing together in distaste.  
>Lydia stared at him, dumbstruck. "<em>What<em>?"  
>Snatching the earplug right back from her, Beetlejuice sniffed, though his actions weren't without some degree of affection. "Yeah. And they picked the crummiest dive to send us to! It was that, Lyds, or lose the dough,"<p>

Lydia blinked.

The hotel had gone bust? Well... these kind of things happened all the time, when economies were failing or when companies were being particularly shady, but Lydia had never had something like this happen to her before. It was the kind of thing you expected to happen to _other_ people, but never you. Certainly nothing like this would have ever happened to the Deetzs in the Outerworld without Mr Beetleman's influence; Charles was always one to check where he was investing or spending his money. With the Neitherworld, however, nothing was ever set in stone.

Lydia sighed, wrapping her arms around herself. "Well… I guess we have no choice,"  
>Beetlejuice snorted, pocketing both of his ear plugs. "Y'think?" He said, voice laced with sarcasm.<p>

"Let's just hope your uncle Sid and aunt Irma didn't extend their annual scummer vacation," The young woman commented, twirling a curled strand of dark hair around one finger.  
>Beetlejuice's pupils retracted at the very thought. Funnily enough, there had been a time when he'd loved his aunt and uncle, though that was admittedly way back when he was first alive. If he was truthful, he still loved them now, but that didn't mean he didn't also hate the thought of spending another waking second with them. He gulped, skin crawling. "Y-Yeah." He laughed nervously, despite himself. "T-That would be just—"<p>

"_Oh, Beetle-dumpli-i-ing-!" _

The effect of that sound was instantaneous. Beetlejuice both convulsed and turned as white as a sheet, and against all his better judgement, he turned.  
>The ferry was crawling past the dock, and there, mocking them with its presence, Sid and Irma's trailer boat was anchored.<br>Sure enough, Irma was leaning over the deck railing, waving and cooing with all her might to get their attention. She'd apparently been sat on a sun chair, reading a tabloid newspaper and penciling in the crosswords, but at having caught sight of her nephew had leapt up onto her feet.

"–too ironic?" Lydia finished for him.

"Well," Irma placed her hands on her hips, but still looked rather happy to see them. "You two could've phoned!"


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: **Sorry for the wait, folks. I was on vacation and also immersed in _Mass Effect 3_. I promise chapter six won't be very far behind.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Five<strong>

Divided by a stretch of contaminated, animatedly chuckling water, Beetlejuice stared at his aged, ghoulish aunt in open horror. It wasn't the sun beating down on him that suddenly caused him to begin perspiring heavily, but the awful foreboding feeling telling him he shouldn't be here - _at all_. For a moment he was too stunned to move, the ferry drifting along at a snail's pace while his and Irma's gazes remained locked - unmoving, unblinking. Finally, on the deck of the trailer boat, Irma turned to face the saloon-styled cabin doors, breaking eye contact. "Sid, honey, little Beetlejuice is here!"

Snapping out of his trance, Beetlejuice dived behind Lydia. "Babes!" He shrieked in a high voice, cowering in her shadow. "L-Let's get outta here! Turn the boat around-!"  
>"Wuhh?" His panic was infectious, and Lydia started. Her anxiety only increased when the scene Beetlejuice was making attracted the attention of her parents.<p>

Delia, her hand cupped in front of her mouth, giggled pleasantly. "Relatives of yours, Mr Beetleman?" She asked, stepping over, but Beetlejuice was panting too much to answer her.

Before the ferry could drift out of earshot, Sid - deeply tanned, stout and balding - joined Irma on the deck, his arms out in a wide gesture either side of him at the sight of his nephew. "Hey, kid!" He called, loud enough to make everyone on the boat turn around. Resting one arm on the railing, he smirked, displaying his own set of decayed green teeth. "What took ya so long?"  
>Beetlejuice threw back his head and did the one thing he felt impelled to do whenever cornered in a situation with his coddling family. He began to scream. "EYAAAAGHHHH!"<p>

Lydia winced, and dropped down to his side, placing her hands on his shoulders ready to shake him out of it. "Take it _easy_, Beej…" She whispered to him gently, just as Charles began eyeing the cowering man fearfully.  
>Delia's eyebrows furrowed. "Is- something the matter, Mr Beetleman?"<br>He gave a squeak in response.  
>With her parents still waiting for an explanation, Lydia put into effect an art she'd had enough practice at: diffusing a situation. She straightened up, making flippant hand gestures. "Oh, you know how it is with family. Like, um, how you'd feel if cousin B. J. decided to join us on vacation, Father,"<br>At the mere thought, the colour drained from Charles' face. "He isn't, is he?" He panicked unnecessarily, glancing around as though he expected him to pop up at any minute.  
>Beetlejuice composed himself enough to mutter – "In a manner of speaking," – under his breath, prompting Lydia to flash him a warning look. Whether or not her parents heard or understood him she couldn't be sure, as they didn't acknowledge he'd spoken; after all, at that moment, the river burbled another joke, and both of Lydia's parents were too busy looking around for the 'speakers' to notice.<p>

Sighing, the Deetz's daughter turned back to face the water, eyes following the passing bank as they carried on drifting down-river, leaving the trailer boat behind them. Beetlejuice's family were now not only out of earshot but also now out of view.

"Are they gone, babes?" Beetlejuice whimpered at her side.  
>She glanced down at him, face softening in sympathy. "Yeah. We're almost there, Beej."<br>The ghost let out a breath of relief and straightened out of his crouched position, back cracking as he moved. "Jeez... I can't keep doin' this the entire vacation,"

Delia had since given up trying to find any technological source of the (bad) jokes, and instead stepped back over to Lydia and the man she believed to be their tour guide with a bright, smiling face. "Your relatives looked like so much _fun_, Mr Beetleman!" She said with another giggle as the ferry began to pull up to the hotel jetty.  
>Beetlejuice snorted, folding his arms. "Well, that shows how much you kn-"<br>"_What's worse than finding a worm in your ap-ple?" _The river burbled, leaving them with one last parting joke.

Awaiting the punch line she'd tried to tell many times before, only for it to fall flat, Lydia knew what was coming. She covered her ears with her hands just as Beetlejuice did, the two of them wincing as they braced themselves.  
>"... <em>Half of one. Uhuhuhuhuhuh,"<em>  
>"Blarghhh," Beetlejuice mockingly retched, withdrawing his hands.<br>Believing that the coast was clear, Lydia re-opened her eyes wearily. She couldn't believe it when the sound of laughter greeted her ears, and _familiar_ laughter at that. Eyes wide, she turned around to examine her father incredulously. "F-Father?"  
>Chuckling in his half-spluttering, half-uneasy way, Charles tried to compose himself. "S-Sorry, pumpkin, a-ha. That was kinda funny..."<br>Dubious, Lydia stared at him as though he'd grown an extra head. "It _was_?"  
>"Of course it was funny, Charles. It was a <em>joke<em>," Delia said, tiredly as the boat lurched to a stop.

Beetlejuice didn't think a monotone, overused 'joke' should even have the privilege of being called such, and the thought of Charles laughing at every one of them they'd come across from here on out made his stomach churn. "I… think I'm gonna be sick…" He said weakly.  
>Ferryman A. Cross sniffed loudly from the back of the boat, his aged face stoic. "Everybody out of the boat. Just watch yer step on the way down. - Remember: feet first!"<p>

The disembarking passengers all frowned in distaste at the sound of a loud, obnoxious dry-heave.  
>Lydia quickly began to shove Beetlejuice towards the jetty, before he could make good on his word.<p>

* * *

><p>The Resort of Last Resort was, not so long ago, both a secure prison and what might be considered a 'holiday village' rather than a hotel resort. It provided land and facilities for campers, as well as tourists who'd arrived in motorhomes and houseboats, but also had its fair share of chalets and cabins. Its attractions and leisure activities – bingo halls, yoga and fitness classes, karaoke sessions, and hobby workshops – all catered for a certain breed of tourists: the retired kind. Now, however, a towering hotel building had been constructed for the new tourists they were hoping to attract, as well as a large pool area and terrace just off of the hotel block and the tropical golf course. In fact the "Last Resort" had had such a facelift that it almost looked… classy.<p>

The reluctant clientele that had disembarked from the ferry was made up of an acceptably diverse mix of ages – not so many 'oldies' as Lydia had encountered the last time she was here. Then again, that was because this crowd had been cheated out of their stay at the Hotel du Yell.

After being greeted by a welcoming committee of staff on the jetty, 'Mr Beetleman' and the Deetzs had begun to make their way to the newly refurbished reception area. Lydia and Beetlejuice were at least both happy to note that not a single washed-up-comedian prison-guard seemed to remain among the staff; Lydia could only assume that - now the resort was no longer so much of a punishment to remain in - the jail had closed.

Beetlejuice, glancing around cautiously for any signs of Sid and Irma, almost jumped when Lydia nudged him softly to catch his attention.  
>"What happened here?" She breathed to him. "It's gone... upmarket,"<br>"Th' hell if I know, babes, and I don't care unless the hotel is joke-proof,"  
>The two of them had fallen behind Charles and Delia, hands at their sides, achingly close. Taking their time, glancing around as though seeing the resort for the first time, Lydia wistfully extended her hand towards Beetlejuice's, face turned away from him. Desperate to brush fingers, itching for at least some small physical contact, she stopped when Delia turned around, questioning why the two of them were lagging behind. Lydia retracted her hand sharply and quickened her pace.<p>

As the four approached the main hotel, the large pool area and patio that had been constructed within the past five years came into view and Lydia, so pleasantly surprised, forgot the bad experiences of their last visit and managed an appraising gasp. "Wow..."  
>Beside her, Beetlejuice folded his arms. "Hmph!" He grumped petulantly.<br>Lydia rolled her eyes. "B. J., don't be so stubborn. Even you have to admit that this is unexpected,"  
>He didn't surrender, still intent on being unhappy about the situation. "Yeah, it's 'unexpected'! I didn't think we'd be stayin' <em>here<em>,"  
>Lydia's own expression was unyielding, and under the force of her gaze Beetlejuice groaned. "Yeah, well, okay already. … Let's just- get this over with, babes," He took hold of her hand, not as particular as she was about being caught by her parents, and sped up to join Charles and Delia.<p>

The reception building itself was nondescript, but inside it was crowded with would-have-been Hotel du Yell patrons, some relieved they still had a vacation but some understandably vexed and not afraid of showing it. Joining a queue of those checking-in, waiting for the four of them to be served, Beetlejuice impatiently jammed his hands in his pockets, and slumped where he stood irritably. "This is gonna be the worst vacation ever..." He mumbled under his breath, brows furrowed.  
>Having been the only one to so much as partially hear him, Lydia turned. "What was that?" She pressed.<br>"Nothin',"

When they reached the front desk, the young receptionist sat behind it smiled at them warmly yet tiredly. "Welcome to The Resort of Last Resort," She managed, struggling with the same tag line she'd repeated to every last ghoul who'd checked in thus far.  
>Lydia was relieved that the girl, despite having pale, corpse-like skin, looked comfortably human; she hoped it further established the Hotel Hello as a 'theme hotel' in her stepmother's mind.<p>

"Yeah, yeah, we've heard that part already." Beetlejuice replied shortly, patience thin. "Just give us the-"  
>Lydia brushed him out of the way, taking over. She handed over their booking reference, courteous in his stead. "Um, here's our reservation, ma'am. Can we check-in, please?"<br>The woman let out a breath that wasn't meant to express emotion, but conveyed a sense of gratefulness all the same. She took hold of their booking reference, squinted at it, then began shuffling through paperwork piled on her desk. She must have found whatever she'd been looking for, because next she said: "Okay, so I have you booked into two doubles,"  
>"Mm," B. J. acknowledged, half-turned from the counter.<p>

Delia pursed her lips tightly in concern. "Um- isn't that one double and two singles?" She put in, trying to sound helpful and unassuming and laughing off what she hoped was a misunderstanding.  
>The receptionist looked up at Delia, looked down at her paperwork and hesitated, worrying she'd made a mistake somewhere along the line. "Um..."<p>

Flustered, Lydia spun around, pressing her back flat to the counter. "Oh! Uh, ahahaha. M-Mr Beetleman is on a _separate_ reservation. I-Isn't that right?" She excused, glancing sharply at Beetlejuice and desperately imploring him with her eyes - _Lie. Lie through your teeth. _  
>Realising the implications of what he'd almost confirmed with the receptionist, and, too, realising that the Deetzs wouldn't be at all understanding about him sharing a room with their daughter, Beetlejuice nodded dumbly. "Oh, yeah. S'right," He lied obediently.<p>

The receptionist's eyebrows both rose and arched miserably, again believing she'd gotten something wrong. She made to say something, to ask for a second booking reference, but Lydia whipped around. Her face, frantically pleading, was enough to silence the girl behind the desk. The receptionist slowly picked up a pair of room keys and handed them over, one tentatively to Lydia and one to Charles and Delia. "Well, uh, here you are, then. Rooms 213 and 257."  
>Delia pursed her lips for the second time, looking strained. "Mr Beetleman, couldn't you get us rooms next door to one another?"<p>

Beetlejuice shrugged his shoulders, chuckling innocently. "Well, uh…"  
>"Oh," The receptionist turned to look at the lines of room keys hanging, hooked, on the wall behind her. "Room 214 is avail—"<br>"No!" Lydia and Beetlejuice cried simultaneously. The receptionist jumped, as did Charles and Delia.

Beetlejuice, mind racing, tried to think of a plausible reason why Lydia's parents shouldn't be next door (other than the fact that the rooms probably weren't soundproof). "T-Two-fourteen has _terrible _views, Mrs D. Trust me,"  
>"Y-Yeah, Mom. I don't mind being down the hall. I-It'll be good for me to have this, uh, independent experience," Lydia agreed, hoping she sounded convincing.<br>Whilst the naive Deetzs fell for it hook, line and sinker, the receptionist - having encountered her fair share of 'Mr and Mrs Smith' bookings in the past - got the gist of the situation. So the blond 'family friend' was secretly seeing their daughter, huh? She didn't judge, it wasn't any of her business, but she was at least relieved that she hadn't processed anything incorrectly or that the Hotel du Yell had screwed anything up. Like most Neitherworldians, she didn't question Beetlejuice and Lydia's age difference; age didn't count for anything here.  
>To move them along quicker she decided to assist. "Oh, I'm sorry, I- made a mistake. It's 314 that's available," She lied, swapping the keys on the hooks. Then, she was business as usual. "So then, meals are served both in the Gagalot club and our new diner, The Slop Bucket-"<br>"Sounds like my kinda place," Beetlejuice commented with a grin, mood lifting. He planned on avoiding the Gagalot at all costs.  
>"- and leisure activities are open to all at any time. Please enjoy your stay,"<br>"Thank you," Lydia said with feeling.  
>"No problem, ma'am,"<p>

"Let's get ya settled in, folks," Beetlejuice announced loudly, gesturing with his hand before beginning to walk purposefully out of the lobby towards the elevators.  
>Taking responsibility for their own suitcases (all except Beetlejuice, of course; Lydia was dragging his), the Deetzs trailed after the ghost.<p>

"I- I hope the double room rate is the same as a single for you, pumpkin," Charles expressed, concerned.  
>Lydia smiled. "Oh, don't worry, dad. Mr Beetleman knows what he's doing,"<br>Beetlejuice, his back to the others, felt his cheeks redden, a smirk forming out of lips he tried very hard to keep neutral. _Sure I do. Or, I mean, _who _I'm doi—_ Yikes. The dark, lecherous and entirely unconscious segments of his mind had run away with him. That was crude, even for him. Stopping short, he cut the thought dead guiltily and remained grateful that the Deetzs couldn't see the face he knew was betraying him.

There were no signs of Sid and Irma. Yet, anyway. Beetlejuice began to relax, lured into a false sense of security. If he could avoid the boat dock and the Gagalot then this vacation wasn't going to be a complete waste of time after all; he had the chance to _avoid _Sid and Irma, plus he and Lydia had gotten away with their own room right under her parents' noses. So this place wasn't the Hotel du Yell, at least they _had_ a vacation.

"Um, B. J.?" Lydia whispered sharply.  
>"Yeah, babes?" He prompted, the elevator doors looming close.<br>"Don't look now, but the second welcoming party has arrived,"

"Bwuh-?" Beetlejuice made the mistake of turning his head, despite Lydia advising him not to. His eyes locked on her initially and her concerned '_do something_' expression, before his gaze travelled up towards reception. What he saw there made him freeze mid-stride. The revolving reception doors had just finished spinning in the wake of his insufferable aunt and uncle, and, anxious beyond all comprehension, Beetlejuice could only stand and watch as the elderly couple approached. He turned white. "Oh no,"

The couple seemed to advance fast, as though some higher being held a universal remote control and had hit the fast-forward button.  
>Lydia's stomach knotted with worry as, even from a distance, they acknowledged her with familiarity. Being resort-regulars, they loudly began greeting everyone else they passed on their way towards them, but that didn't seem to slow them down fast enough.<br>Lydia backed up towards an elevator, hand primed ready to call it to the ground floor. She didn't want Sid and Irma near her parents long enough to accidentally let slip the nature of her and Beetlejuice's relationship; if there was one thing she didn't need this vacation, it was for his handy-man and tour-guide cover to be blown.

"Um... Mom, Dad, why don't we head upstairs and unpack?" She suggested, desperate. "We don't want to clutter the lobby with our luggage, after all,"  
>"But <em>Lydia<em>-" Delia began, offended by the idea. She didn't have time to raise a full objection, however, as Charles, who seemed keen to avoid 'Mr Beetleman's' relatives, was nodding eagerly. "Good idea, pumpkin," He agreed.  
>A split second later, the elevator car arrived and Charles stepped inside with his case, his pouting wife reluctantly following after him.<br>Lydia didn't get far enough. The elevator was only big enough for two people and two cases, and by the time they all realised this the doors had snapped shut in her face, cutting off her escape.

She jabbed at the skull-shaped button beside the lift, glancing up at the hard-to-read dial above the doors to try and figure out when the next elevator car was due, but it was too late.  
>"Beetledumpling!" Irma announced, voice starting high before gradually lowering to a patronising baby-talk pitch.<br>"I'm feelin' queasy, babes..." Beetlejuice whimpered out of the corner of his mouth as Lydia surrendered from her position by the elevators to stand beside him on the front line. "You and me, both..." She whispered, before Sid and Irma closed the gap between them.

"Hey, kid! What's the big idea, runnin' off like that? You lost yer backbone?" Sid cracked.  
>As per usual, Beetlejuice didn't know how to respond other than to stand there dumbly and survive the onslaught.<br>Glancing between the two of them, Lydia couldn't help but notice that their familial resemblance was almost uncanny. She'd heard that males were supposed to take after their maternal uncles, and despite Beetlejuice having not inherited Sid's skintone or the short stature that he had in common with Bea, they had the same cheekbones, hooked nose and balding propensity.

Lydia found she had to stop over-analysing however when, Irma, who'd just finished pinching Beetlejuice's cheek, began to approach her instead.

"You brought your girlfriend too, dear!" She cried, pinching both of Lydia's cheeks this time, and hard. "What a nice surprise,"  
>Lydia tried to smile back at her but it hurt.<p>

"Um, yeah, about that..." Beetlejuice managed to find the strength to speak.  
>"M-My parents are here," Lydia explained when Irma withdrew her hands. She began rubbing her cheeks, particularly the enflamed areas where she'd been pinched. "They don't really understand that we're..."<br>Sid suddenly clapped Beetlejuice so hard on the shoulder that he flew halfway across the room.  
>"... together?" Lydia finished, though it came out as more of a question than a statement. She blinked at the sight of Beetlejuice sailing through the air.<br>"_Oof!_" He grunted upon landing, dazed.

Lydia suddenly felt very vulnerable, especially as Sid now picked this moment to acknowledge her. Her shoulder tingled in anticipation of a greeting similar to what Beetlejuice had just experienced, and again she found herself wracked with nerves. Instead, Sid, hands in his pockets, appraised her with a short whistle. "Sayyy, when did you get to be such a looker? Boy, you a picked a good 'un, kid,"  
>Lydia's cheeks reddened whilst, Beetlejuice, voice muffled from where he'd face-planted the ground, mumbled: "Thanks,"<p>

"Um, we should, uh, really get up to our room." Lydia said quickly, backing up towards the elevators once again. "You know, unpack? Settle in?"  
>Sid began peeling Beetlejuice off of the floor, chuckling in his deep, near-asthmatic way, while Irma nodded. She pushed her spectacles further up her nose. "Why, su-ure,"<p>

Sid had a better idea. One arm around a tense Beetlejuice's shoulders, he snapped his fingers. "_Say_. Why don't you kids meet us for lunch?"  
>Beetlejuice felt the iron grip his uncle had on him intensify. He rocked on the balls of his feet, feeling more claustrophobic than he ever could in his parents' house but also realising that trying to escape was futile.<p>

Lydia squirmed where she stood. It wasn't exactly the kind of request you could say 'no' to. "Uh... we'd love to-"  
>"- when <em>hell <em>freezes over," Beetlejuice quipped.

"What a cracker!" Sid cackled and this time slapped an unsuspecting Beetlejuice on the back.  
>Lydia winced as he slammed into the wall beside the elevator shaft, and, sliding to the ground, pressed the 'call elevator' button with his nose on the way down.<p>

* * *

><p>As the elevator car chimed their arrival on the second floor and the doors parted to let them exit, Beetlejuice and Lydia both let out weighty sighs of relief.<br>They'd survived a run-in with the relatives, but only barely.

"What room are we, babes?" Beetlejuice asked tiredly, a hand coming up to his head.  
>Lydia stepped out onto the carpeted floor, lugging two cases behind her. "213. I know they're not next door, but Mom and Dad are still on this floor, Beej. We have to be careful. If they were to find out we're sharing a room, then–"<br>"_Relax_, babes. They're not gonna find out," He said, obnoxious as ever, zapping the suitcases into weightlessness before heading down the hall. In the wrong direction.  
>Lydia shook her head. "<em>This <em>way, Beetlejuice,"  
>"Huh? Oh, right," Hands in his pockets, he trailed after her mid-air, their luggage levitating along with him.<p>

Down a relatively short corridor, they located their room – the doorway tucked into a corner. The 'three' of the brass '213' mounted on the door was hanging upside down, the top screw holding it there having come loose.  
>Once Lydia had fumbled with the key in the lock and opened the door wide, she blinked in surprised. Whilst the room wasn't classy, nor pandering to her tastes, it was… nice. This tower building was obviously a very new addition to the hotel as it hadn't had time to get dilapidated in true Neitherworldian fashion. Even the Gorefester had shown signs of wear and tear that this place didn't.<p>

Lydia stepped inside, eyeing the terracotta walls and eclectic curtains. It wasn't at all the kind of décor that appealed to her, but it wasn't flowery or pink, so it wasn't insufferable. Beetlejuice, however, wasn't as forgiving. He groaned. "Where's the cobwebs? The peelin' wallpaper? The _bedbugs_?"  
>"Oh, come on, Beej, you can bear a little bit of class in your afterlife for a week,"<br>"It still needs some finishin' touches," He said, eyes glittering darkly, before interlocking his hands, cracking his knuckles and then snapping his fingers. A blinding light so intense caused Lydia to cover her eyes as the room became subject to Beetlejuice's overwhelming imagination and power. When it was safe for Lydia to look she gasped with joy.  
>The basic lampshade that had been hanging from the ceiling had become a grand and gothic chandelier filled with lit, wax candles. The miserly double bed was now a four-poster, six-foot-wide ornate masterpiece boasting ebony, silk drapes, with carved griffins for feet and gargoyles perched on the top of each post. The modest sideboard had morphed into a beautiful dressing table fit for a gothic princess, white and distressed, the large mirror framed by carved bats that had filigree wings.<br>The ceiling, now fringed with cobwebs, was no longer an off shade of white, but pitch-black and decorated with painted constellations. Nearly all of them were incorrect in some way, constructed purely from memory, but the only one that was both scientifically accurate and breathtaking to behold was Orion, which was directly above the bed. The walls, no longer coral, were now covered with black and white striped wallpaper, but as Beetlejuice zapped himself back into his usual outfit and seemed to disappear, camouflaged, in amongst the familiar stripes he added some pin-thin grey lines, spread the distance between the black and white columns and allowed a few metres of paper to peel from the walls for good measure.

The suitcases dropped to the floor with a thud.

Lydia was in awe. "Oh, Beetlejuice-!"  
>"Y'like it?" He grinned.<br>"_Do I_?" The young woman threw herself onto the bed, rebounding slightly. The mattress certainly had _bounce_. This fact, and that it might be put to good use, caused Lydia to giggle mischievously.

The two suitcases obediently popped open, their clothes soaring out and hanging themselves up in the coffin-shaped wardrobe over in the corner of the room.  
>With no chores to worry about, Beetlejuice smirked and clambered onto the bed after Lydia. "Well... Now we're here," He said matter-of-factly.<br>"Yes, we are," Lydia hummed in playful agreement.  
>Beetlejuice's smirk then was freely lecherous, eyebrows drawing down and together to further amplify his devilish intent. "So how's about givin' yer tour guide some sugar?" He suggested.<br>Lydia rolled her eyes, face breaking into a grin. "You're _insatiable_,"

Beetlejuice didn't know what that word meant but he guessed from the context. "You know y'love it,"  
>His young lover exhaled softly, still smiling, and cupped his cheek with one hand, caressing it as she leant in close. Her lips puckered in invitation, ready to press to his, and Beetlejuice eagerly leant in close. They were only millimetres apart when a rude knocking suddenly started at the door.<p>

"_Ly-di-a-a-a-a!_"

Lydia's eyes snapped open, wide, turning her head so that Beetlejuice missed her lips entirely and almost fell face-first into the bedsheets. "It's Mom!"  
>In one swift movement, she managed to both push herself up from of the bed and kick Beetlejuice clean off of it as she swung her legs around.<br>"- _Bwahhh!_"  
>"Coming, Mom!" Lydia called as she dashed for the door.<p>

"… I guess I'll just hide then, huh?" Beetlejuice muttered with some degree of sarcasm as he slid under the bed.

"_What's going on in there, Lydia? I thought I heard Mr Beetleman,_"  
>"Ahah, what gave you that idea? He... went off with his family for a bit," Lydia opened the door up, smiling apologetically. "There. Sorry, Mom."<p>

Delia had changed for lunch, and was stood in a summer dress, hands latched onto a clutch-purse that she almost dropped in her surprise as soon as the room's interior was revealed to her. Her eyes widened in horror. "Lydia, your _room_!"  
>At first Lydia didn't register what Delia was fussing about, before remembering that Beetlejuice's alterations were a far-cry from how the room looked before, and that it wouldn't exactly appeal to anyone but the two of them. She thought fast, painting on a wide grin. "Isn't it wonderful? Mr Beetleman got me one of the themed rooms! Perfect for me, huh?"<p>

"W-Well… yes…" Delia decided not to argue, despite eyeing the peeling wallpaper and wondering if that was intended, or if the room needed some maintenance. She dropped the subject, shaking her head. "Lydia, honey, your father and I are going to get something to eat. We heard that the 'Gagalot' diner has live entertainment - stand-up comedy act, if you can believe it! Isn't that exciting?"  
>"I believe it," Lydia replied, repressing a knowing smile. <em>Some things never change… <em>She thought with amusement.  
>"It sounds… great, Mom. But I'm not that hungry,"<p>

Delia seemed alarmed by this, leaning close to stare at her step-daughter in critical examination. "Lydia, you have to eat _something_. You're so _thin_. Don't you want curves?"

Beneath the bed, hidden by the overhanging sheets, Beetlejuice snorted. _Trust me, Mrs D. You have nothin' to worry about in that department. She has fi-i-ine curves._

Delia's head rose at the one audible sound the ghost had made and, afraid they'd be caught, Lydia suddenly stepped out of the room. _"_Why don't I come with you for now and show you where it is?" She said quickly. "It'll be good to get you adjusted to the place,"  
>Delia's eyes narrowed, catching her out in some small-measure all the same. "You know where the diner is?"<p>

"The Gagalot? Of course I—" Lydia stopped herself before she ran her mouth off. She'd been sounding far too casual; she had to remind herself that her parents didn't know she'd been here before. "Uh, yeah. Yeah, I overheard from another tourist." She corrected, heart thudding.  
>Delia stared at her for a moment longer before shrugging. "Well, then, let's not waste any time. We can meet Mr Beetleman later," She put an arm around her stepdaughter's shoulders, leading her out of the doorway authoritatively.<br>Lydia, out of excuses, defeated, had no choice but to follow.

As Delia led her away she glanced back helplessly, eyes trained on the bed where she knew Beetlejuice was hiding before the door closed behind her, shutting him inside.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six**

Lydia felt rumpled and unclean as she navigated the grounds of the resort. Parents in tow, mortified that her stepmother had interrupted her and Beetlejuice during such an intimate moment, she was desperate to drop Charles and Delia off at the Gagalot and part ways with them. It turned out that her memory was foggier than she remembered, and she took them down a wrong path before they eventually located the diner. On the one hand Lydia's story about overhearing its location from a tourist gained credibility, but on the other hand it was a further set back, and meant more time spent away from Beetlejuice.

The diner hadn't changed over the years other than having been given a fresh coat of paint. It was a rectangular purple-pink building that seemed to bow out at the roof and foundations, with ceiling-to-floor opaque windows coated in privacy film. The double doors formed the 'teeth' of the large, grotesque head they were set in, whilst the red stairs that led up to them seemed to vaguely represent a tongue, even though the staircase wasn't at all tongue-shaped.  
>It wasn't the kind of place that the Deetzs would willingly dine in given another option, but it looked better than the sound of the <em>Slop Bucket<em>.

Lydia motioned up to the building with relief she couldn't suppress. "Here it is!" She said, nearly breathless.  
>Despite her reservations from the looks of the building, Delia managed a weary smile. "O-Oh, good." She glanced at her husband, who, rather than being a victim of his own usual nervous disposition, appeared relatively calm. "You're looking… relaxed, dear,"<br>At this Charles turned and smiled, albeit still a little uneasily. "W-Well so far there's been nothing too crazy, Delia. This place is- fun,"  
>Lydia hid a smile, while Delia - who obviously didn't understand what 'crazy' meant, being able to justify most things - rolled her eyes. "Whatever you can you <em>mean<em>, Charles?" She prompted impatiently.

"Well, usually Beetleman takes us to some pretty whacky places-" Charles began, cupping his hands and twiddling his thumbs. "- but this time he–- eyaghhahh!" A hand suddenly clapped down on his shoulder, and Charles both jumped out of his skin and screamed, frozen in place as Beetlejuice appeared out of nowhere at his side. Draping an arm around his shoulder casually and giving him a slight nudge, Beetlejuice winked at him. "Hey, Chuckster! Just lookin' out for ya," He announced loudly, ruffling Charles' mop of blond hair.  
>'Mr Beetleman' was wearing the same outlandish Hawaiian shirt he'd been wearing all morning, complete with striped shorts, in his usual 'tour guide' guise. His lithely thin arms and legs betrayed his rounded midriff, reminding all that, hey, he wasn't actually as overweight as he initially looked.<p>

"Are you coming for some dinner, Mr Beetleman?" Delia asked, oblivious to his sudden arrival, while Charles remained stock-still, his hair standing on end.  
>Beetlejuice raised his brows, motioning to himself. "Me? Naww, ahaha. Trying to cut down." He placed his hands on his belly, face so sincere that Lydia couldn't tell if he was lying or not.<br>"I'm not hungry, either." She said quickly.  
>Delia sighed and rolled her eyes, shrugging in surrender. "I tried,"<p>

Ignoring her stepmother, Lydia latched onto Beetlejuice's side, smiling widely. "Mr Beetleman, can you show me around the hotel? I, uh... fancy a swim,"  
>The ghost grinned back at her. "Sure." Looking up at the Deetzs, who were already now heading for the Gagalot's stairs, Beetlejuice gave them a mock-salute and a wave. "Catch ya later, Mr and Mrs D." He said, before he and Lydia turned and began walking back the way they had come. As soon as the diner's double doors closed behind Charles and Delia, Beetlejuice slipped his arm around Lydia's waist, and gave her a squeeze.<p>

"Nice cover, babes. Want me to 'juice us back to the room?" He asked, eyebrows wiggling mischievously.  
>Lydia let out a tinkling laugh. She looked up at him with suggestively lidded eyes, leading him to believe she was about to agree wholeheartedly. But, when she did open her mouth, what she actually said was: "I wasn't kidding about the whole swimming thing, Beej,"<br>Beetlejuice hesitated, her suggestion not matching the expression on her face. When he realised she was being serious, he didn't know whether to laugh or sulk. "Oh. Right,"  
>Lydia smiled, pressing affectionately into his side as they walked. "Let's just check the pool out. We have all evening together after all,"<p>

That smile was infectious.  
>Beetlejuice grinned to himself, his hand slipping down into the natural handle of her hip, where it would remain for the rest of the long walk back to the northern area of the resort.<br>"I'll hold you to that," He swore.

* * *

><p>The newly erected pool area, whilst small, was perfectly formed.<br>Back up topside the weather wasn't as co-operative as it was down here, yet the pleasant temperatures hadn't been enough to draw out the Neitherworldian tourists. The terrace wasn't exceptionally busy, and only a handful of the loungers dotted around the patio were occupied.  
>The pool itself, a large rectangle in the middle of the terrace, was a deep, sapphire blue in colour, so blue that the water was almost opaque. What was more: the pool's bottom wasn't visible. In fact, Lydia wondered if it even <em>had <em>a bottom; there was no 'shallow' end or gradual slope into deeper waters, on all sides it simply dropped away to an unfathomable depth.

Standing side by side at the water's edge, gazing down at the pool, Lydia glimpsed Beetlejuice wrinkling up his nose out of the corner of her eye. "Yucgh. Clean water,"  
>She shook her head in amusement, brushing her dark fringe out of her eyes. "I knew better than to expect you to join me." She commented teasingly.<p>

Eyes trained on the pool, something seemed to glint and flit beneath the water's surface, a silver sheen that darted in waves. It must have been the light of the sun playing off of the ripples in the water... even though it was, for the most part, still. Lydia bit her bottom lip. "It—looks kinda deep. Is it safe, Beej?"  
>"I'm sure they've got a lifeguard around her somewhere," He said vaguely in response, making Lydia wonder if he was sulking about not getting his way.<br>He glanced at her. "You got yer suit, babes?"

_My... suit? _Lydia thought, her mind not working up-to-speed. Then, she cursed. "Oh, that's right! I left it in the roo-"  
>"Great!" Beetlejuice practically cheered, green eyes twinkling mischievously. "Why don't we just head back for a bit and-"<br>"_Beetlejuice_," Lydia said in That Tone - the don't-try-my-patience, do-as-I-say tone. "Half-hour around the pool won't kill you. Again,"

Groaning, he shook his hands in defeat. "All right, all ri-ight! You win," He said with feigned misery, caving, before 'juicing her into the bikini she'd brought with her - a red two-piece patterned with black bats. Lydia glanced down at herself appraisingly, before giving him a quick and grateful embrace. Even Beetlejuice, himself, was now wearing swim shorts - striped, of course. As Lydia pulled away she saw that he was also brandishing two towels that had mysteriously popped into existence.  
>"I'll get us a good spot, Lyds; gonna check out the rot-tub." He grinned, adjusting a dark pair of sunglasses that were now perched on the top of his head. Beetlejuice then wasted no time in heading off towards the south-east corner of the terrace, trying to put enough space between him and the water as was physically possible. Walking backwards, he grinned broadly. "Enjoy yer swim, babes!"<p>

"Will do!" Lydia called after him, before turning back to the water. Eyeing its limitless depth in awe, feeling an adrenaline kick at the idea of free-falling through that water without restriction, the thrill quickly set off her nerves. Man, that looked deep. What if she got a cramp? What if some Neitherworldian monster pulled her under? Suddenly her legs felt weak.  
>Before she could chicken out entirely she gathered her courage, mentally scolding herself. <em>Don't be such a baby, Lydia Deetz. You're starting to sound like your father.<em>

She dipped a toe in the pool – cold, but not unbearably so. Again, there was that queer but beautiful silver sheen in the water, dancing right by her foot, then dancing away as soon as she pulled back.  
>Mind set, Lydia took a deep breath before stepping a few paces back, and then taking a running jump in. As soon as her feet lost touch with the ground, she braced herself for the plunge, ready for the shock of the water. Only – it didn't come.<p>

_Huh? _

She felt suspended, as though she'd just fallen into a world of zero gravity. What if she hadn't jumped into water at all, but had jumped into _nothing?_ A whole world of Nothing?

Lydia opened one eye cautiously.  
>She was hovering in midair.<p>

_Beetlejuice!_  
>He must have still been sulking about coming to the pool rather than returning to their room to pick up where they'd left off. Not knowing whether to laugh or reprimand him, she turned to glance over her shoulder. "Beet-!"<p>

It wasn't Beetlejuice. It was someone else.

Shocked, Lydia's pupils dilated in fear. For a moment all she could see was the stranger's eyes, piercing steel-blue eyes. They were painfully intense, so cold that they hurt to look at; like the eyes of a wolf. The next thing instantly noticeable about this man was his face itself... and that he had no nose. In fact, his face was mostly skeletal, with what seemed to be only a thin layer of greying skin stretched over it, skin that was broken around where his nose should have been. A stranger to the Neitherworld would have been horrified, but Lydia wasn't shocked by his appearance - she was shocked by _him_. The sight of him, the idea of him, made her skin crawl. He had _power_. Power like Beetlejuice, power he was exacting on her _without her permission. _

She distantly realised that the man was wearing a white tank top as part of a full lifeguard's uniform, and had a whistle in his mouth that he was blowing sternly. When he spoke it took Lydia a few seconds to hear what he said.  
>"'xcuse, ma'am. I don't advise that."<p>

Despite his looks, his voice was surprisingly charismatic, and put Lydia at least a little more at ease. After _hearing _what he'd said, however, it took her a bit longer to process what he meant. There were no signs around the pool that forbade diving, and this was the _Neitherworld_ - most things were permitted here that were frowned upon in the health-and-safety-mad land of the living. What, exactly, didn't he 'advise'?  
>She laughed uneasily, and quickly glanced back down at the water she was still hovering over before looking up again. "W-Why not?"<p>

The lifeguard narrowed his eyes, but in inspection rather than criticism. His thin lips pulled back from his teeth, forming something that wasn't quite a smile. "You're not dead, I take it?" He asked, voice taking on a hard, cryptic edge that Lydia didn't quite like. She shivered despite herself. What kind of a question was that?  
>"N-No..."<p>

This time the man did smile, but it looked like it pained him to do so. What he said next turned Lydia cold all over. "Well you would have been,"  
>One arm still pointed at her, channelling his power and keeping her aloft, he used his free arm to motion to the water in a large sweeping gesture. "Take a <em>good<em>, long look. See those silver flashes?"

Lydia didn't need to look to know what he was referring to, but at his suggestion she found she couldn't remove her gaze from the water. She _was _looking, and her stomach was churning. "Yes...?" She said, voice thick. Wrapping her arms around herself slowly, she didn't dare move another muscle in case it broke the hold he had on her.

At first the stranger was quiet, and Lydia glanced back at him anxiously in a silent prompt. The lifeguard, however, had only been quiet because he was going to _show _her the problem, not tell her.  
>He'd pulled something from his pocket, an item so ludicrous to have on his person that he must have 'juiced' it into being. Lydia's heart thumped manically; it was a vial filled with a deep red liquid, and without knowing how she knew, she guessed correctly that it was blood. The man threw it towards the pool so precisely that the vial smashed right beside the pool edge, glass littering the patio but not falling into the pool. Its liquid contents, however, began to run into the water. As soon as the first drop trickled into the pool, only a few inches from Lydia's left side, the surface of the water seemed to <em>boil. <em>Rippling and bubbling, silver and red flashes rushed towards the blood hungrily.

Every hair that covered Lydia's half-naked body stood on end. Subconsciously, she let out a whimper.

"We just had Piranha Hour."

Lydia had a pins-and-needles sensation in her toes, the same toes she'd dunked into the water naively and watched as the silver flash she'd mistaken as the sun's reflection had hungrily swum towards them.

"'Swim with the piranhas', once in a lifetime experience. Something organised by the hotel to keep the tourists happy. Hasn't been too popular with anyone that isn't a skeleton or hasn't got magic,"

In her fear, Lydia found herself laughing almost hysterically. She shivered so hard that she flinched. "Ahahaha. W-W-We have that topside. Only… with— with dolphins, and not in h-hotel swimming pools,"  
>Against her will, her gaze was tugged downward. Lydia could only watch, suspended over certain death, as the ripples of movement began to die down. That left no room for her to relax, however. The shoal of piranha instead drifted to the right, lurking ominously in her shadow.<p>

Lydia had never before been so scared in her life. Her bladder felt loose, as though at any moment she would wet her bikini, but she had no room to feel humiliated. She found the fear eased when she wasn't looking at the water directly, but it took all her strength to raise her head up high.  
><em>That's right, Lydia, don't look at them. Keep your eyes up. They're not there. They're not really there. <em>

The lifeguard sniffed behind her. "Y'don't say?" He muttered, but Lydia was trembling too much to acknowledge him.  
>"Well, as you can see, we haven't finished emptyin' these bastards out of the pool. Pretty thing like you wanna be careful. Don't want you killing yourself on my watch,"<p>

Lydia managed a weary, anxious smile. Her feet were cramping up, aching desperately to be back on solid ground. "Th-Thank you,"  
>Despite his words, she was still floating precariously over the water, at his mercy. He could bring her back to firm ground, leave her dangling there, or even drop her – she wasn't any business of his.<br>There was something about him that Lydia didn't wholly trust, something that she couldn't put her finger on. She kept trying to tell herself that it was because he had _'juice_' he could exact on humans without parameters, that she was offended by his very presence. _Beetlejuice_ was the only ghost in the Neitherworld she knew who possessed magic on such a scale, but even he had boundaries. _Nobody_ was allowed to be more powerful than the Ghost with the Most. This man's heroic yet stoic appearance seemed to insult her boyfriend's very being.  
>Lydia could only desperately hope that the stranger was indeed feeling more heroic than stoic. Her life was still hanging in the balance, after all.<p>

The man behind her was quiet. Too quiet.  
>Eventually, voice barely audible, he spoke. "'Course, the piranhas <em>are <em>kind of hungry. .. They don't see a lot of fresh meat around here,"

Lydia almost let out a sob, her face paling.  
><em>Please, <em>please_ tell me he's joking. _She thought desperately. Then the strangest sensation overcame her... she was moving backwards in the air slowly, levitating down towards solid ground. She was being pulled back by an invisible lifeline, and she had never before felt more grateful.

"Bu-ut... I'd never waste a perfectly good specimen that way," The lifeguard jeered in what was supposed to be a reassuring tone.  
>Feet back on the firm poolside, Lydia's legs gave way beneath her, aching from having been held in the same position too long. Hands flat to the paved floor, she wheezed in and out, still in shock as her heart hammered in her chest.<br>The stranger seemed oblivious. "There you are, miss. Give it five minutes and we can get the pool clear,"

"Y-Y-Yeah... okay..." Lydia breathed, though she no longer had any intention of going for a swim.  
>Even if the ghoul had just saved her life, his poor taste in 'humour' had overrode his act of heroism, and she wanted to put as much distance between herself and him as she possibly could.<p>

As soon as the lifeguard had blown on his whistle and summoned a group of pool boys, he levitated up into his podium-chair to preside over the cleansing of the water. It was then that Lydia made a break for the rot-tub, running as fast as her wobbly legs would allow.

* * *

><p>Beetlejuice had just settled down into the depressed tub of slime, letting out a relaxed sigh as he submerged himself up to his lower chest. Scratching his forehead absently, waiting for the cold gloop around him to warm, he let his mind empty.<br>The few loungers that had been in what he believed to be the 'best spots' on the terrace had already had their naively sleeping occupants subjected to his mischievous pranksterism. Now that his bad habit was over with he had time to think about the situation they'd landed themselves in. This vacation wasn't exactly what he'd had in mind (and then some) but it had unexpectedly taken a turn for the better. After all, he and Lydia could still have the time together that they'd wanted, and - speaking of Lydia— Beetlejuice turned, lips quirking up into a lecherous grin.  
>Just because he had an aversion to water didn't mean he wanted to miss out on the sight of Lydia in a swimsuit.<p>

Hands resting on the tub's edge, Beetlejuice's eyes scanned the pool area, trying to locate her as well as he could from his vantage point, thoughit was difficult from this position. He knew that if she wasn't near the edge of the pool he wouldn't be able to see her at all, so to counter this he stretched his neck upwards, like a reverse periscope, to get a better view of the pool area.  
>… Lydia was nowhere to be seen.<p>

Surveying the lounger area in case she was there too, he eventually pouted and retracted his head to settle back naturally on his shoulders. He wasn't to know that Lydia was, in fact, taking a detour around the outside of the terrace and that if he'd just turned his head a few centimetres to the left he'd have caught sight of her running towards him.

He pulled down his darkly-tinted sunglasses, and casually looked around the patio.  
>Hm, there was a man in a lifeguard's uniform sat in an elevated chair, his back to him. <em>See, Lyds. Told ya it was safe. <em>Beetlejuice thought with assurance.  
>He almost leapt out of his skin at the sound of thundering footsteps coming to a skidding halt behind him.<p>

"_Beetlejuice!_"

"Eyaghhhh!"  
>He turned sharply at the familiar voice, the shock wearing off and relief rushing through him its stead. "Lyds?"<p>

Lydia looked pale. Her cheeks, however, were flushed from the run over. "H-Hey," She said softly, crouching down to slip into the tub beside him. Her legs were trembling something awful.  
>Beetlejuice misinterpreted her shaking, and tilted his head on one side. "Water cold, babes?" She'd gotten dry awfully quick for someone who'd been for a dip.<p>

"Uh, yeah," She lied, clambering in beside him.  
>Trying to put the lifeguard out of her mind, she smiled at the feel of the warm slime around her; it wasn't an entirely unpleasant feeling, but similar to a mud bath, and it helped ease her nerves. Being near Beetlejuice definitely helped.<p>

The ghost stared at her dumbly. "Uh, what're ya doin' in here anyway, babes? What happened to the pool?"

Lydia cracked another faint smile, scooting closer to his side. "I don't know, I just, uh, got kind of lonely. Thought you might like some company?" She didn't know why she was lying, but it helped paper over the cracks. Maybe if Beetlejuice learnt that this hotel was dangerous he would cancel their vacation - _their _vacation - and Lydia didn't want that.  
>Beetlejuice hesitated, trying to figure her out, before smiling back at her. "Well, yeah,"<br>He raised an arm to invite her in and Lydia complied, letting him drape it around her shoulders. "But I meant, babes— rot tub? You? Yer not usually one for the grossest that grossness has to offer,"

At this Lydia levied him a look, one eyebrow raised. She thought of the frankest and wittiest comeback she could, and grinned.  
>"I'm with you, aren't I?" She countered.<br>Then the two stared at each other, and began to laugh.

* * *

><p>Inside the Gagalot diner-cum-stand-up-comedy-venue, and after a half-hour long slot of entertainment, Charles and Delia had latched onto a queue that occupied one side of the club. Onstage now was a comedy duo – twins, or so it appeared – cracking jokes about their grandsons even though neither of them looked old enough to <em>have<em> grandchildren. Riotous laughter filled the room, infectious, and even usually-anxious Charles was joining in, bewildered at his own easiness. The jokes were either just plain terrible or so old that they'd been repeated a million times over and, logically, _no one _should have been laughing. But… they were.

Delia pursed her lips as she eyed the loaded plates that passed them by as people separated from the queue, anxious as none one of the food looked appetising. Then, up ahead, a couple got to the end of the buffet table and walked by them, before stopping short at the sight of the Deetzs. "Sa-a-y, weren't you two on the ferry this mornin'?"  
>Charles looked up, as did Delia, blinking in confusion until they realised who it was who'd greeted them – the elderly pair who'd stood on the trailer boat they'd passed on the ferry. Mr Beetleman's relatives.<p>

"Oh, y-yes." Charles extended his hand for the darkly-tanned male to take, but Sid clapped him on the shoulder warmly instead. "Glad t'see you folks at the club," He cried. Unlike Beetlejuice, Charles had remained rooted in place; Sid seemed to have the sense not to greet him to death.  
>"Pleased to meet'cha," Irma said, wrinkled face lifting into a smile.<p>

"You're Mr Beetleman's relatives," Delia put to them as she and Charles advanced in the buffet line.  
>An uncomfortable but thankfully brief pause ensued. Sid and Irma at first looked at each other questioningly before Sid burst out laughing. "'Beetleman'? Pahh! What a card!"<br>Irma's expression, however, became slightly unsavoury. She was used to her nephew's tendency to hustle, and used to him using false names, so she didn't appear confused or surprised, only disappointed. She brightened up before the Deetzs could read too much into it. "We're his aunt Irma and uncle Sid. You must be—?"

"Oh, I-I-I'm Charles Deetz and this is my wife, D-Delia. W-We're here with our daughter, Lydi–"  
>"Oh, so <em>you're<em> the little lady's folks!" Sid deduced loudly, cutting him off.  
>Distantly, Charles and Delia released they were being handed plates by a catering attendant, having reached the buffet table.<p>

_The little lady? _How did they know Lydia? Delia had time to wonder suspiciously, before remembering that they would naturally be related to Beetleman's 'son' too.

"Yes, we are," Delia chanted merrily, managing a smile, despite finding it difficult to find anything edible, let alone appetising, amongst the buffet food.

"Well, it's good to get the family together, isn't it, Sid-honey?" Irma commented, squinting as she smiled.  
>Sid nodded in emphatic agreement. "Ye-eah. Nice that little Beetlejuice got himself a good gal. Your kid's a stunner,"<br>"Th-Thanks?" Charles glanced at Delia anxiously.

It was then that the entertainment duo on stage mentioned a joke about graveyard poker that had Sid in stitches. Irma pursed her lips yet managed a smile at the same time. "Well, we'll leave you to it. Come on, dear, let's get a table,"  
>Sid, still chuckling, allowed himself to be led away by his wife.<p>

Delia and Charles would have felt relieved to have been left alone by the pair, had something not stuck out in that conversation. Now they had questions, and only one was curious about why the macagroani and cheese dish was audibly whining.

They exchanged glances in silent wonder.

_Beetle…juice?  
><em>


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: **Sorry for the time between updates; I'm not very well again!  
>I hope the 'flash-mares' aren't going to confuse anyone, but, hey, dreams are confusing.<br>I spent about half-hour editing this, got nearly to the end and then the page refreshed and deleted all my edits. I tried to go back and fix all that I remembered editing, so I hope I got everything, but I hope you'll understand if some bits need a second-look.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Seven<strong>

Some things in the Neitherworld weren't all that different from the Outerworld – showers, for example; though sometimes Lydia wondered just how many Neitherworldians used them.  
>Before heading back to the room with Beetlejuice, she stepped into one of the poolside cubicles to wash off the muddy contents of the rot tub, eager to clean up before the slime caked to her body hardened. Naturally, Beetlejuice hadn't joined her in the shower –he had his curiously funny way of reappearing in his usual clothes without a speck of dirt on him. Lydia smiled to herself at the very thought. Really, getting 'clean' and his fear of bathing seemed to be purely water-related. He had no problem zapping himself clean – or was that just her imagination?<p>

Tilting her head back eagerly under the steady flow of cooling water, she let out a deep breath she hadn't realised she'd been holding, one that felt so good to release that she wondered if she'd been bottling it up since the piranha-scare fiasco. Now that a brief window of time had passed, she played the scene back in her mind and already saw it with new eyes. The lifeguard had merely done his job, nothing more, and nothing less. He'd _saved _her, why was she regarding him with such anxiety? Because he had magic? Beetlejuice wasn't the only ghoul to possess magic. She was getting worked up for no good reason, because she was sneaking around behind her parents' backs, and because she wanted to avoid Beetlejuice's relatives – all circumstances that made her feel guilty and on edge. This chance to get away, to escape from the stresses of college work that now even haunted her at home, should be a welcome relief.

As she turned the shower off, she could hear Beetlejuice whistling absently outside the cubicles, waiting for her. Wrapping herself up in a towel after giving herself a quick dry-down, she stepped out, feeling like her usual self again.  
>Beetlejuice turned, hands in his trouser pockets. He was only half-dressed; his suit jacket was nowhere to be seen and his magenta shirt's top two buttons were unfastened, while the tie circling his collar was undone. He looked scruffy and half-assed. Lydia had never seen him look so attractive.<br>"Y'ready, Lyds?"  
>"Yep," She replied brightly, stepping over to him.<br>Mid-distance her towel and swimsuit vanished, replaced instead by a black, kimono-cut kaftan that was cut low at the front. The garment only barely met the hotel and pool-area's dress code; it looked more like a piece of lingerie than tunic-style beachwear. Lydia blinked down at herself in surprise, before levying Beetlejuice a critical look. "What's all this?"

"What's wha-at?" He cooed innocently.  
>"This," She motioned to herself. The dress completely covered her arms and waist, but not much else. It only fell to her mid-thighs, and was quite sheer in places (though thankfully not around the chest area.) She folded her arms, but she <em>was <em>smiling, so Beetlejuice at least knew he wasn't in too much trouble.  
>Lydia arched a dark eyebrow. "What happened to the clothes I wore down here?"<br>Casual as ever, Beetlejuice just shrugged and gesticulated vaguely in the direction of the hotel tower block. "Oh, they're in the room, babes. Same as m'jacket,"  
>He deliberately didn't acknowledge her choice of wardrobe, but Lydia hadn't expected a full answer from him anyway.<p>

Shaking her head in defeat, she linked her arm with his before the two began walking determinedly towards the hotel lobby. They both knew Beetlejuice could simply make them appear in their room, but that would spoil the fun - the walk was pleasantly agonizing.  
>With each step closer to the hotel and elevator foyer, their pace quickened. By the time they reached the elevators and had stepped inside one, they were both close to panting for air, casting eager glances at the other.<p>

"You know, I don't know why you bothered changing my clothes when you're just going to take them straight off of me," Lydia purred as the lift began to ascend.  
>They were kissing before they reached the next floor.<p>

* * *

><p>Despite it being Lydia who had insisted that they should cap the noise, even though her parents weren't residing in the room next door (and, currently, <em>nobody<em> was), it had ultimately been her that had broken her own 'rule'.

Now, dark hair mussed and wild, she rested her head on Beetlejuice's chest, smiling a faint, contented smile that lit up the entirety of her flushed pink face.  
>A rare but needed blanket of quiet smothered the room as the two regained their composure.<br>One of Beetlejuice's hands rested on the small of her back, the other tucked beneath his own head as he relaxed. Though Lydia was led over him, pressed flush to the contours of his body, he felt no shame as he had their first time together nor as he had when his father had berated him. Pot–belly or no, Lydia had a beaming smile on her face and that was good enough for him.

It soon dawned on Beetlejuice what the time was, and that they'd barely eaten since that morning. If he didn't answer the empty feeling in his stomach soon he was sure it would begin to nag him. Literally.  
>"Hungry, babes?" He asked finally.<br>"Starving," Lydia admitted, her stomach growling in acknowledgement.

Beetlejuice freed the hand that had been trapped beneath his head, and elongated his arm in the direction of the side-table on the opposite side of the bed. His extended hand then picked up the phone that resided there and snapped it back to the side of his face. He called for room service and within ten minutes (and after both of them had reluctantly and leisurely dressed) there came a hesitant knock on their door that Lydia answered. Wearing little more than Beetlejuice's shirt (which hung baggy on her) and a pair of black shorts she'd nearly forgot she'd brought with her on vacation, Lydia blushed and quickly removed the 'do not disturb' sign from around the door handle before accepting the food from the hotel attendant. Glancing back over her shoulder to ask Beetlejuice for some money, a wad of Neitherworldian dollars appeared in her hand before she could open her mouth. The skittish little man in a white tuxedo suit took the money from her, before apologising for disturbing them and dashing off.

Propped up on the bed, a hand entangled in his messy blond hair, Beetlejuice's eyebrows slanted upwards in interest. "Beetle-burgers?"  
>"Fresh off the grill," Lydia nodded once she'd clicked the door shut, before clambering back onto to the bed beside him and handing him his bun.<br>Beetlejuice took it from her and licked his lips eagerly, reclining back into the bed pillows. "Aaah... Y'know, babes, this is the life,"  
>"Afterlife," Lydia put in helpfully after taking a bite out of her burger.<br>"You know what I _me-ean_,"

They half-sat, half-rested together, eating their last-minute meals lazily. By the time they were both finished they were too comfortable to move.  
>A calm stillness befell the two of them, and eventually Lydia let out a contented sigh. Beetlejuice was leaning against her, and so she proceeded to absent-mindedly play with his hair, eyes fixed on the bed canopy, but not focused. When he let her continue with this display of affection she felt giddy with warmth.<p>

"Y'know, Beej, I don't think I feel up to meeting Mom and Dad. Let's just stay here, okay?"

He felt slightly heavy against her; it seemed he'd completely relaxed to the point of not even bothering to keep his weight off of her small frame, which was unusual for him. What was more, he wasn't answering her, and he was making light breathing noises.

_Wait a minute… _

"Beej?"

This time her only answer was a well-timed snore.

* * *

><p>With sunlight pooling in from the windows that lined the panelled walls of the bar, B. J. was sat playing the piano in the one shadowed corner of the room, his mind elsewhere. A good attention span wasn't exactly something he'd been born with, and his imagination was running away with him, eyes trained on the open newspaper he had in place of music sheets on the stand before him, mentally chuckling at the "<strong>Chiseller Strikes Again!<strong>" headline. While his scams were gaining publicity he had to increasingly come up with better, more extravagant schemes that, at the same time, couldn't be traced back to him. Being a conman was easy, but doing it with _style _was something entirely different.

The bar wasn't particularly busy this lunchtime. In fact, B. J. was beginning to wonder exactly what audience he was playing for. He was looking for any excuse to go home; each time a customer rose from their seat and exited the building he wondered how much of an argument he had with Tommy about being able to do the same thing.

He hated work, it was something he'd never been prepared for. As a child he'd always been told by his parents to believe in his imagination, and he'd been damned sure that life would promise to be a whole lot _more_. It wasn't until he hit adulthood that he realised it had all been a lie. Nothing had ever come of his dreams. His imagination was limited to his mind only, it wasn't enough to alter the world around him into what he wanted it to be. He couldn't even change who _he _was – a slob with no prospects and no social life.

B. J. was just… _different_. Even though he exuded charm there was something about him that unsettled most - he was into things that, generally, most people weren't into. He'd seen _Dracula_, _Frankenstein_ and the _Bride of Frankenstein_ as many times as he could afford to when they had played at the cinema, had – at times – a morbid sense of humour, and carried around a pocket edition of Poe's Greatest Works wherever he went.  
>He was generally considered to have been born either hundreds of years too late or a hundred years too early. He didn't see the point in growing up, he didn't even see the point in being <em>serious<em>. Even with a war going on, he wanted to make people see the world the way he saw it – you have to live for the laughs.

Somewhere behind the counter, where his boss was pouring the odd drink for those seated around him, the telephone began to ring; piercing bells, loud and obnoxious. Tommy flinched so hard that he jumped, before excusing himself from his customer and answering the call.  
>B. J. glanced up casually from where he was playing, watching as Tommy's face turned ashen, then grave.<br>"Yes, I understand. I'll let him know, ma'am,"

Unable to hear the other end of the conversation, B. J. turned back to the newspaper, trying to focus on the broadsheet's small print. His curiosity was piqued however, and his heart began to drum quickly in his chest as Tommy placed the cup-receiver back where the phone was mounted on the wall and came out from behind the counter. He was walking over to _him_.

B. J. began to panic. No woman would call for him, except his mother. What if someone had worked out he was a hustler? What if he was going to _prison_? He couldn't go to _prison_.  
>"B. J.," Tommy said carefully as soon as he was close enough. His voice was uncharacteristically soft. Odd. Tommy didn't normally call him by name. "It's your father,"<p>

The blond's brows wrinkled in confusion as B. J. looked up at his boss, struggling to process his words. _Pops? But... __I sure as hell heard him say "ma'am" on the phone. What's he talking a— _Oh. No.  
>B. J. turned cold, and his fingers ceased up, unable to finish the piano piece on a good note.<br>No, his _father_ hadn't called, his _mother _had. It was _about _Dad.

Voice thick, struggling to find the words with the dawning realisation and fear, he turned to face his boss. "Uh… y-yeah?"

Tommy's thick grey eyebrows knotted together sadly. "Your mother called. The doctor is over there right now. I... think you had better go home."  
>B. J. instantly regretted wanting to be sent home early. There was an old saying: 'be careful what you wish for' and suddenly he knew what it meant. As he stood up, his legs felt weak. "R-Right," He said, stomach churning.<p>

His father hadn't been well for weeks. He'd developed a bad, chesty cough, and Bea had been taking care of him as best she could since he'd taken ill. B. J. had always known it was serious, but he'd not for one moment thought it was _that _serious. His father was a tank; he could never kick the bucket, he'd miss nagging his eldest son too much.

He numbly picked up the folded broadsheet, glanced down at it, then handed it to Tommy absently. His boss accepted it without a word, face firm yet oddly supportive.  
>As he headed for the door, B. J. pulled his suit jacket from the coat stand at the bar's entrance before leaving - not as he had envisaged earlier - but solemnly and quietly.<p>

He wasn't good at emotional stuff; Donny had always been the one with the good nature and pleasantries – uh… at least until he'd gone ahead and crashed his plane in the war. Being the eldest son had always meant that B. J. was _supposed _to be the responsible one but that had never happened in practice. Since Donny's death, he'd had no choice.

It was a long journey back home to Winter River; he could only hope his pops would hold out until then. He didn't have a car, he couldn't afford one, so he used whatever means he could.  
>He caught a train to the nearest station, but had to walk the rest of the way on foot. As he paced the empty Connecticut countryside paths he realised that he <em>should<em> be running. Why wasn't he? Every second that slipped by equaled to yet another grain of sand slipping down the funnel in the hourglass of his father's life - time was running out. Yet somehow he knew that if he ran, he'd panic, and he'd be admitting to himself that this really was It.

Having taken his usual route home, B. J. eventually reached the large Victorian-era house that had been built on the hill. Like a guardian, it watched silently over the entirety of Winter River, and had become a local landmark of sorts.  
>Funny. The walk from the station to the outskirts of the village centre <em>should <em>have taken an hour, but it seemed like he'd arrived here much sooner than that. Anxious about what would be waiting for him when he got home, he stopped and stared up at this whitewashed, timeworn building in longing. He'd always wanted to live there, even as a child when it had still looked fresh and new, before it had been abandoned. It looked so… so _creepy_ yet so… regal. With the large tower section of the building going up into the dark attic space, steep triangular roofs and more porches and stairs than were necessary, B. J. had always asserted that if he couldn't have that house in life, then, heck, he'd have it in death.

As he stared up at it now, he noticed something for the first time - there was a girl sat on the porch facing him. A _beautiful _girl. She didn't conform to the forties standards of an ideal pin-up, no, but she ticked all of _his_ boxes. Her dark hair was long, curling at the tips in various directions, her skin like porcelain and her frame so slight and thin.  
>He'd seen her somewhere before. But not here, never here. He suddenly felt like a second reality had layered over this first one.<br>He found he was walking over to her. No, not walking, hovering. How could he do that?

The girl was wearing a red dress with a cobweb pattern and off-the-shoulder sheer black straps, the thickest dark tights he'd ever seen and ballet pumps that almost disappeared entirely into her tights. They were the most bizarre clothes he'd ever seen. He _loved_ them.

As soon as he got close enough, the girl looked up at him with intense brown eyes.  
>"B. J.," Her voice was soft, yet muffled as though it came from <em>Outside. <em>But outside where he couldn't be sure.  
>Without knowing how he knew, he suddenly realised that this house was hers, and he knew her name. It was Lydia.<p>

B. J. wasn't sure of who he was anymore. He wasn't sure of _when _he was anymore.  
>"<em>Lyds<em>?" He gibbered dubiously.  
>He wanted to say something to her, something outrageously odd – she shouldn't be here. Not that he didn't want her here, but it didn't make any <em>sense<em>.

Lydia stood up, tilted her head on the side and smiled at him. It was a smile that made his heart ache with want. "Wake up, Beej,"

"Wuh?" B. J. hesitated, confused.  
>He felt the brush of fingers stroking his cheek and flinched from the feel of it, even though it was pleasant. No hand was at his face; Lydia was still a good few feet away from him.<p>

The explanation she offered made everything fall into place. "You're dreaming,"

_Oh._  
>B. J. looked down at his feet, levitating almost a foot above the ground. Blinking down at himself, he nodded in acknowledgement. "Makes sense,"<p>

Lydia let out a breath that came out as a laugh.

With this new understanding that he was dreaming, yet without the capacity to recall his present-day-memories in this manipulative dreamscape, B. J. felt torn. His brows furrowed, face stricken. He knew this was something he shouldn't want to dream, knew that he should get out quick now while he still had the chance, knew that if he walked towards Lydia he would be saved a lot of pain, but…  
>"Babes…" Why was he calling her that? Was that her nickname? "I have somewhere I gotta be," He said regretfully.<p>

Lydia's face fell, but only a little. She looked both bitterly sad and happy at the same time. "Oh." She said quietly. She looked at him for a long, lingering moment, and again B. J. felt that same caress on his cheek. He didn't flinch this time, only relaxed.  
>Lydia smiled at him tenderly. "Will you… tell me about it? Later?"<p>

He didn't understand what she meant exactly, but B. J. nodded anyway. "Sure," He said, and felt a jolt as his feet landed back on solid ground.

Lydia's image on the porch had become ghostly, and was beginning to fade.  
>B. J. distantly realised she was no longer wearing her red, cobwebbed dress, but was instead wearing an oversized pink shirt and shorts. She was lowering herself back down into a sitting position, clasping her hands in her lap as though deciding to sit and wait patiently. "Okay." She breathed, her voice very compelling. "Sleep tight,"<p>

When B. J. blinked next, Lydia was gone entirely. In fact, both the entire house and his surroundings were gone. Instead, he found himself stood in the doorway of a dimly lit, box bedroom, surrounded by floral patterns; a room where three people felt like a crowd. His mother was stood at the foot of the cast iron bed that dominated most of the room, and a man was gently excusing himself from her presence – the doctor.

Somehow, he'd arrived in his parent's bedroom. After letting the doctor brush past him, B. J. shifted awkwardly.

It wasn't long before his mother noticed him stood in the doorway and, tears in her eyes, turned to throw her arms around him. "Junior! You made it!" She tried to sound brave, but still seemed as though she could break down at any given moment. B. J. numbly embraced her, before patting his mother on the back. He didn't want to confirm what he already knew, but he still looked up. Sure enough, lying in bed and supported by a stack of pillows, his father was resting, the life draining out of him.  
>The shock of seeing his father like this left B. J. numb to the very core.<br>"Pops…" He disentangled from his mother, before stepping around the side of the bed, face grave, hands in his pockets. "How are ya feeling?"

Nat looked awful, he could barely raise his head to look up at him. His fine blond hair, greying heavily in places, was stuck to his skin with feverish perspiration. "Tired, son." He said in his gravelly voice.  
>B. J. frowned sadly.<p>

"Junior-"

"Yeah?"

Nat tried to sit up, but failed. His face lined as he tried to focus on what he had to say, visibly struggling. "Promise me you'll loo—" He broke off into wheezes and hacking coughs, and B. J. winced, hating the sound of it yet hating the criticism he knew was coming. Only… it didn't. "– l-look after your mother,"  
>This frank request left B. J. feeling entirely hollow inside. His eyes widened, face paling. The grief he felt in that one instant was too painful for him to process. He felt helpless, but worst of all he felt void of all emotion - he felt <em>nothing. <em>

"Now, dear, don't talk like that…" Bea scolded from the opposite side of the bed, patting Nat's hand and giving it an affectionate rub.  
>"Y-Yeah, Pops." B. J. tried to laugh. "You've got a long way to go yet,"<p>

Silence ensued. All three of them knew that wasn't the case.

Eventually, after Nat broke the quiet with yet another series of coughs, he turned his head ever so slightly in B. J.'s direction. "Junior,"  
>B. J. didn't know whether to perch on the edge of the bed or kneel on the floor. Standing felt <em>wrong<em>. He leant closer to his father, a lump forming in his throat. "Yeah?"  
>Nat's eyes, now firmly shut, tightened, as though in great pain. Struggling for breath, but trying to pace himself so he could manage what he needed to say, he squeezed his wife's hand tenderly. "I'm… proud of you, son,"<br>Bea's breath caught, and it almost sounded like a whimper, but her son was too taken aback to otherwise respond. His eyes stung with tears that refused to fall.

_No, you're not, Pops. Don't waste your last breath on a lie. Everything I do - you criticise. I was always the mistake that had to be fixed; that was why you had Donny. That was why you—_

Nat wasn't lying. There was no way he would go out on anything but the truth. If anything, B. J.'s father was brutally honest, and he knew he would be to the end.  
>Humbled and broken, B. J. could only watch as his father slipped away before him, and hated himself because he couldn't shed a single tear.<p>

Bea wouldn't let go of Nat's hand, her eyes brimming with witness, the first sobs beginning to pass her lips.  
>Once his father had breathed his last, B. J. solemnly made his way around to the other side of the bed, and put an arm around his mother's shoulders.<br>"... At least Donny's got some company now." He said softly, hoping it was appropriate.  
>Bea sniffled miserably. "T-T-That's right, dear."<p>

After numbly holding his mother, allowing her to grieve, B. J. looked down at his feet, feeling physically and mentally drained. How would his mother cope alone now? He couldn't imagine her by herself in this house, with all the memories suffocating her. She'd need some company at the very least.

"Uh, Mom, I know it's a bad time but, uh… d'ya mind if I move back in? I'm… havin' a bit of money trouble," He asked carefully.

Bea knew him too well. There _was _no money trouble. "Oh, you don't have to do that, dear. I'll- I'll be all right on my own." She tried to assert, voice almost breaking mid-sentence as she dabbed at her eyes with her handkerchief.

B. J. cracked a rare, gentle smile. "It's a big house, Ma. Y'won't even notice me."  
>At this, Bea's face broke down, the tears coming steadily yet accompanied by a grateful, wide grin. She threw her arms around her son, pulling him down to her petite height, and held onto him for dear life.<p>

* * *

><p>B. J. had needed a walk, and it just so happened that the moon had not bleached the stars out of the sky this particular evening. He had only a passing interest in astronomy, but one star always stuck out to him, and he could always pinpoint it in the sky just from memory.<p>

Stepping out of his family home, leaving his mother to orchestrate arrangements with the doctor and the undertaker, he let the cold, night air wash over him. Considering it had felt like only an hour ago that he'd been at work, nightfall had hit fast. He glanced up now at the stars mapped out full in the sky, and focused on the one, red-tinted star that had always captured his attention. _Betelgeuse._

As a kid, he'd always thought it had sounded cool. He'd always wrongly spelt it as it sounded too, as '_Beetlejuice'. _And, as a kid, fed up with just initials for a name, he'd secretly wanted it to be his _real _name; after all, 'Juice' sounded close enough to his surname. He'd always had the idea of adopting it as an adult, but in this world of business and money it would never have worked. His only achievement as a child was managing to persuade his younger brother to use it as a nickname, but Donny was the only person that would – he'd always been eager to please his big brother.

Too busy looking up at the night sky as he walked, B. J. bumped into someone, hard. As their shoulders collided, the man – who wasn't that much younger than B. J. himself – snapped.  
>"Hey, watch where you're goin'!" He cried.<br>Taken aback by the guy's attitude, B. J. went right on the offensive. "_You _walked right into _me_," He barked in return. He didn't need this guy's lip, he'd just lost his father for Pete's sake.

Despite it being the middle of winter, the man was curiously wearing a white tank top and long red shorts in some kind of uniform. It didn't suit him. It didn't even suit the period.

The two men stared each other down for a lingering, tense moment, before they both surrendered simultaneously, deciding they had more pressing matters to attend to, and continued walking in opposite directions.

When B. J. eventually made the journey home, the seasons seemed to change around him as he walked, like someone had pressed fast-forward on his environment and yet he'd remained at the same pace. Someone had put him on a timeline, and had jumped him ahead a good year or so.  
>He remembered, distantly, that this wasn't reality, that he was dreaming, and yet- this was a dream he had no control over.<p>

When he opened up the front door, the family home felt different. Cosy, but still empty. The interior was so clean that it didn't look as though it had been lived in; his mother must have gone on yet another compulsive cleaning spree.  
>"Ma?" He called into the hallway.<br>"In the living room, dear," Came her weak voice from the first door off the hall.

As B. J. joined her where she sat settled by the fire, falling down into the chair opposite her in exhaustion, he noticed how _drained _his mother looked. She was hunched over in her armchair, and had been reading the newspaper. Today's headline was "**Net Closing on Local Conman?**", and it made B. J. want to scoff arrogantly. They weren't even _close_.  
>When he realised his mother was watching him, he felt instantly guilty.<p>

"Are you all right, dear?" Bea asked, even though it should have been B. J. asking her that question. Her son nodded, hoping she couldn't read the guilt in his face. "I'm fine, Mom,"

A peculiar smell had drifted up to meet Bea's nose and it wrinkled slightly as it tried to process it. Finally, she placed the paper on the table beside her. "Dear… when was the last time you had a bath?" She fussed.  
>B. J. glanced heavenward. "Uh…"<br>His mother didn't bother to wait for an excuse or an outright lie. She tutted, shaking her head in disbelief. "What did I say about your _hair_? If you have it long, you have to take care of it."  
>Dumbfounded, B. J. stared back at her. His arms felt as though they had weights tied to them, and that they were dragging him down to the floor. "Mom, I'm 34 years old!" He objected, incredulous.<p>

Bea's face softened, smiling in a way that creased her face and emphasised all her wrinkles. She looked old. She looked unwell. "Doesn't matter how old you are, dear. You're still my boy."

B. J. grumbled, and the conversation ended at that.  
>The only sounds that then emanated through the air was the crackle of the fire and the ticking of the old grandfather clock in the corner of the room. Eventually, Bea glanced at the fireplace, staring deeply into the writhing flames in the hearth, lost in thought. B. J. had almost begun to doze off in his chair when his mother spoke again. "Junior, when are you going to settle down and find a nice girl?"<br>His answer rolled off of his tongue before he could process what it was he was even saying. "And what's Lyds?" He retorted. "Invisible?"

_Wait… _

He paused, thinking about what it was he'd just said. Realities were mixing again. He shouldn't have said that, Lydia wasn't actually _here_. The real answer was… well, he couldn't remember what the real answer had been.

Bea looked up, but she didn't appear to have heard him. "You know, I always wanted to be a grandmother," She said, voice full of longing.  
>B. J. felt that same stabbing guilt again. He hesitated. "There's… time for that, Ma,"<br>Bea closed her eyes and let out a faint sigh. "Not anymore, dear," She said in a calm, soothing voice.  
>Looking down, B. J. twiddled with his thumbs. "No. I guess not." He said, half-laughing. Then, the more he thought about it, the more he realised that he wasn't actually letting down his mother, he was letting down <em>himself<em>. Nevertheless, his eyebrows drew together sadly, and he managed to phrase the words he had always had trouble saying. "… I'm- sorry, Ma," He managed, glancing up.

Bea had fallen asleep.

Somehow B. J. knew she wouldn't wake up again.  
>How did he know? Because he had lived this all before.<p>

At first he simply felt empty, hollow, but then he began to feel a surging frustration that quickly turned to anger.

This was a dream.

This was a fucking _dream_.

He wasn't B. J. anymore, he was _Beetlejuice _now. He'd been Reset; he'd had a better life in the Neitherworld, one that was more _him, _one without pain, one without suffering. He'd tried to forget these memories, and for good reason; they were _painful_. Why was he reliving these now? Why, since he'd been dead all this time, was he just having these dreams _now_? He didn't _want _to remember his miserable and dull life, he'd never achieved anything, he'd only ever failed, had only ever lost.  
>He hadn't been bitter when he'd died because he'd had nothing to lose, but now, in his afterlife, he had things he couldn't <em>stand<em> to lose. He had Lydia.  
>At the thought of her he tried to force himself awake, desperate to get back to her, but much as he wanted to, he couldn't manage it. He was <em>stuck <em>here.

He charged out onto the street and made a break for what wasn't yet the Deetz's house but where he had seen Lydia earlier, where she had stirred him from his dreams in an attempt to rescue him. When he reached the spot where the house _should_ have been his feet came to a blundering, skidding halt. The hill wasn't even there. A block of buildings that towered high, as far as the eye could see, were there instead, but the buildings weren't important, it was what was between them. The network of alleys.

"_Lydia_?" Beetlejuice called down one of them, his voice echoing into the shadows. When no reply met his ears, he steeled himself and walked blindly down it, a heady foreboding feeling washing over him.  
>He navigated the bleak labyrinth, eyes adjusting to the dark, desperate. He didn't know what he was looking for – Lydia, a door with an 'exit' sign above it, a bright light... as long as whatever it was could snap him out of this dream.<p>

He finally reached the mouth of a dead-end alley. This one was particularly dark, so dark that at first Beetlejuice had to squint before he could make anything out. When he finally could, his skin crawled. The man he had bumped into earlier was at the back of the alley, but he wasn't alone. He had a cocked pistol in hand, finger on the trigger, and an arm around a girl, a hostage. Beetlejuice's pupils, which had been dilated to absorb any traces of light, quickly withdrew to the size of pinpricks. The girl was Lydia, and the man's gun was pressed flush to her right temple.

Beetlejuice suddenly felt as though he, Lydia and the madman with the pistol were all standing on a very, very thin line, and a yawning chasm had opened up beneath them.  
>When the armed man eventually spoke, Beetlejuice flinched."Bit young for you, isn't she?" He said, voice steely cold. "Practically half your age. What are you, some kind of pervert?"<p>

The ghost felt very helpless indeed. He had no 'juice' here, in fact, he had no control here whatsoever. "Let her go," He said as firmly as he could.  
>The man's cold blue eyes narrowed. "You gonna squeal on me, Juice?"<br>"_No_!"

He pressed the gun closer to Lydia's head, enough to leave an impression, and so hard that she let out a whimper. Her usually deep brown eyes were glazing over, pale, in her fear.  
>"She isn't dead yet. Not like you or me. I can fix that. I'd be helping you out in a way,"<p>

Horrified, Beetlejuice balled his hands up into fists. "I don't _want_ that!"  
>"Why not? You wouldn't have to worry about her getting tired of a dead guy… finding someone her own age… running off. She'd be all yours. Forever."<p>

Beetlejuice's throat felt very dry. This man – he was grasping at names, trying to remember him, trying to recall who he was – had never said any of this in life, because Lydia had never been _around _in either of their lives. Why was he saying it here if this dream was a fabricated flashback?  
>The idea that this might be some part of Beetlejuice's subconscious speaking through this man was perhaps more terrifying than the thought of it being the real man himself invading his dreams.<p>

"Are you out of yer _mind_?" Beetlejuice shrieked.

Lydia, standing tense, let her hands tremble at her sides. "B. J., wake up," She begged quietly.

A piece of the puzzle clicked into place. Black. The man's surname was Black.  
>"If she loves you, she's going to off herself to be with you anyway," He said, not illogically.<br>"Lyds wouldn't do that! I wouldn't _let_ her do that," Beetlejuice nevertheless objected.  
>Black's eyes glittered darkly as he sneered at him over Lydia's shoulder. "Why, because she makes you feel alive again?"<p>

Lydia tipped her head heavenward, her eyes tightly shut. When she spoke, her voice took on that Outside tone, like a person talking through a closed door. "B. J., _please_ wake up. You're scaring me,"

Beetlejuice shook his head firmly. He couldn't let him think that he was arguing with himself. He was _not _Black, there was no way he could ever associate himself with him, and there was no way he would ever think the same way he did. "'Cause I know what she'd be missin'! What _you _took away from me!" He cried.

"Beetlejuice_?"_ Lydia pleaded.

Black sniffed. "You shouldn't have stuck your nose in someone else's business. Who do you think you are? You think you're better than me? You were a criminal too,"  
>"I was never a murderer, <em>pal<em>,"

"Beetlejuice!"

One arm tightening around Lydia, Black's eyes narrowed. "I'm going to find you, Juice," He threatened.  
>In his fear, Beetlejuice half-snorted and half-laughed hysterically. "Good luck with that one," He dismissed.<br>"And when I do, you and your little girlfriend are history,"  
>"Leave her <em>out<em> of this, Black!"

The unwanted figure from his past began to cackle madly. Dark hair sticking up all around his head, his eyes took on the wild glint of someone who needed to be locked up, and fast. "I can't. Do you know why? I lost everything because of _your _meddling."  
>Beetlejuice dared to take a few steps forward. "Harry–"<p>

Black wasn't interested in how close Beetlejuice came, he'd already set his mind as to what was needed. Voice taking on a hard, cold edge, his face drained of all human empathy. "I want you to know what that feels like, B. J., now that you have something to lose."

His finger was caressing the trigger.

"Starting right—"

Beetlejuice's eyes widened. "No, _wait_–"

"— now—"

"_Beetleju—_!"

It was only a little push, but it was enough.  
>The trigger clicked back into place, and the horrific sound of the gun firing scarred itself forever into Beetlejuice's immortal memory.<p> 


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter Eight**

"_LY—DIIII—AAAA!_!"

Beetlejuice flailed into relative consciousness, battling his way out of the clutches of sleep. Having been, in one second, 'standing up' and in the next lying down, his body failed to process the switch from dream-world to reality successfully, believing his body to have _physically _moved. This 'transition' made him feel queasy and light-headed.  
>His eyes snapped open, but failed to register both the bed canopy and pitch-dark, star-lit ceiling above him. The world around him felt as if it were spinning, a sensation he hadn't felt so strongly before. For now he couldn't tell what was up or down, and was only barely able to make out Lydia above him as he screamed his nightmare away.<p>

"Beej, I'm here! I'm here!" Lydia tried to calm him, simultaneously restraining and embracing him. "You were having a nightmare,"  
>Boy, and didn't he know it.<br>Her voice was soothing, familiar, and she _was _there, holding onto him.  
>She was real.<p>

Finally coming to, realising where, who and when he was, Beetlejuice began to relax steadily, his chest heaving. "B-Babes?"

Lydia let out a deep breath in her relief, and sat back, a hand on her heart. "_Finally_, you're awake. You scared me half-to-death."  
>Half-panting and half-nervously laughing, Beetlejuice sat upright. "Doin' my job, at least," He cracked, but felt raw for doing so. He didn't feel right; he didn't feel like himself at all.<p>

Resting her chin in her palm and that subsequent arm on her knee, Lydia looked at him. "You were talking in your sleep, Beej," She said softly.  
>The ghost's face paled. He didn't want Lydia to know the full extent of his dream, yet judging by the way she was acting he didn't think he had talked constantly throughout it. Nevertheless, he hesitated. "W-Whut did I say?"<p>

Lydia sounded both skeptical and anxious. "We... had a 'sort-of' conversation." She said, wrapping her arms around herself. "You said you- had somewhere to be."

Beetlejuice gulped.  
><em>When she was on the porch. <em>He recalled, rightly. When he'd slipped from a deep sleep into a lighter one reality must have had an effect on his subconscious mind and Lydia had crossed over into his dreams - an early lifeline he'd been too stupid to use.  
>He raised a still-shaky hand to his head. "Could'a done with you just waking me out of it, babes," He admitted with a laugh.<br>Lydia's face lined with concern. "That bad? How many nightmares have you been having lately?"

For fear of worrying her more than was necessary, and out of pride, Beetlejuice scoffed. "Nothin' is 'that bad', Lyds. I'm fine," He dismissed. He didn't like lying to her, but he wasn't trying to - he was trying to lie to himself. Still, he needed a moment alone - to cipher through his thoughts, yes, but, better yet, to come back to himself.  
>Pivoting where he sat, he dangled his legs over the side of the bed. They hadn't yet bothered to close the drapes, so he didn't need to brush any of the sweeping fabric out of his way. He squinted at Lydia groggily, a weak smile playing across his face. "I- uh… need a walk, babes. To clear my head." He excused himself, standing up.<p>

Lydia kicked out her drawn up legs flat to the bed, pointing a finger at him sternly. "Hold it right there, mister." She objected, though she sounded more hurt than suspicious. "You keep having these nightmares, and they're seriously bothering you–"  
>"<em>Psshaw<em>." Beetlejuice dodged, laughing. "This is me we're talking about, babes. Nightmares are my favourite kinda–"  
>"Why are you denying it, B. J.?" Lydia snapped, still jabbing a finger in his direction.<br>"Denyin' _what_?"  
>"That you're afraid!" She cried, gripping at air with frustrated, clawed hands.<p>

Beetlejuice frowned, cocking a thumb at himself and straightening where he stood. "Hey, _I'm_ the one that does the scarin' around here," He sniffed.  
>Lydia's voice softened in her desperation. After all, she was worried about him, not angry with him. "And maybe you're scaring <em>yourself<em>?" She put to him, hoping the idea would catch, but Beetlejuice just stared back at her, indifferent to the notion.

During their argument, Lydia had managed to creep to the edge of the bed, and she was now even kneeling before him, practically begging.  
>"Stop playing the tough guy; you can tell me anything, Beej." She insisted. It was both a demand and a plea.<br>Beetlejuice shrugged, folding his arms childishly. "I ain't got nothin' to tell,"  
>Lydia reached the end of her tether, and let out a cry of frustration. "You're so <em>stubborn<em>!" She groaned, sagging and cupping her forehead in hand.

Not fully realising how small he was making her feel, but getting a good notion nonetheless, Beetlejuice frowned miserably, feeling guilty. He took a recovering breath and then found himself looking uncomfortably awkward. He wanted to apologise, but his ego wouldn't let him; he didn't really believe he had anything to apologise for.  
>He unfolded his arms, voice calm. "Y'don't gotta worry about me, Lyds. I just need that walk,"<p>

Looking down at her lap defeatedly, Lydia barely moved. "… Do you want me to come?" She asked, but didn't sound hopeful.  
>Beetlejuice shook his head. "Naw, babes. You stay right here. Where you're safe,"<br>Now Lydia _did_ look up, glowering in bewildered skepticism. "Where I'm _safe_? B. J., we're at a hotel! What's gotten into you?"  
>"I just need some fresh air,"<br>"That's a bad lie and you know it. Why are y–?"

Sharp as anything, Beetlejuice pressed a finger to her lips to quieten her. "Lydia. Baby. I'll tell ya when I get back. Matter o' fact, I'll probably run my mouth off and tell ya more than I want to, but not right now, Lyds." He pleaded with his eyes, but his voice was stern. He was trying to tell her, without words, that he was the grown-up, and much as he didn't act it one-hundred-percent of the time, now was the time that she _had_ to listen to him.  
>He sighed, and withdrew his finger. "Just… gimme that, okay?"<p>

Lydia bandaged up her hurt.  
>"You promise?" She pressed him as she watched him slowly make his way around the bed.<p>

"Yeah," Beetlejuice replied tiredly, heading for the door. "… Yeah,"

* * *

><p>After slipping out of the room and pulling the door to a close behind him, Beetlejuice stepped into the middle of the dark hotel corridor. He had no way of knowing what time of night it was, not unless he juiced himself up a wristwatch.<br>He went to put his hands in his trouser pockets, then realised he was in his pocketless pyjama pants. _Only _his pyjama pants, for that matter. He was about to juice himself into something more appropriate when a familiar, female voice made him freeze with his hand mid-raised.

"… Mr Beetleman?"

Beetlejuice's head snapped up, at first paling in horror before an embarrassed flush crept up from his neck to his rounded cheeks. "M-Mrs D!" He greeted, chuckling nervously. Grinning wide enough to display all his crooked green teeth, he waved with the fingers of his right hand. Quickly realising that hand had been cupping her stepdaughter's breast not a few hours ago, Beetlejuice slowly lowered it back down to his side guiltily.

Delia was in a nightgown with a horrendous aquamarine face-mask plastered across every visible inch of her face. She was holding a bucket filled with ice, and had been heading back to her and Charles' room down the hall before spotting the 'tour guide' leaving their daughter's room. She looked positively stunned.  
>"D-Did… you just come from Lydia's room?" She stammered. Her eyes were wide in disbelief, before narrowing in suspicion, then widening, then back again in a constant, confused circle.<p>

Beetlejuice's mouth went dry. He thought on his feet as fast as he could after a fitful sleep. "U-U-Uh, yeah!" He said suddenly, a light bulb switching on inside his head. He began talking fast, barely catching a breath. "B. J. called, wanted to speak to her, y'know how it is… Puppy love an' all that. Had to, uh, pass over my cell." He explained, gaze jumpy and shifty as he struggled to look at Delia directly.

Delia was incredulous. "It's 3am in the _morning_." She griped disapprovingly.

"He couldn't sleep." Beetlejuice said quickly. "Woke me up." He at least hoped that explained his tousled appearance. He hadn't bothered to correct how he'd looked since he and Lydia had done the deed earlier and he was pretty sure he looked like he'd been dragged through a hedge backwards. His hair was sticking up at peculiar angles at the back and with his face now as red as it had been earlier, he looked rumpled and breathless. He plainly had 'guilty' written all over his face.

Delia stared at him for a long, tense moment.  
>She was quite happy to believe Beetleman's story, after all it made perfect sense. But - then again - he was acting awfully jumpy.<br>She kept her concern off of her face and eventually just nodded. Shifting the bucket of ice to the other hand, Delia started the conversation she'd been dying to have with him since dinner. "Mr Beetleman, I've been doing some thinking,"

Beetlejuice smiled weakly. "Uh… right?"

"I—I'm sure you don't mind me asking, but… how old are you again?"

He swallowed the lump that had formed in his throat.  
>He didn't like this line of questioning at all. Should he lie, and pluck a random number out of thin air? Yet, then again, why should he? He didn't see the point in lying to the Deetzs anymore; it was only Lydia that was being insistent. Nevertheless, he fidgeted uncomfortably. "… Thirty-seven." He admitted. He felt old. Certainly too old to have a girlfriend that was only just on the way out of her teens. Then again, he wasn't Hugh Hefner, so, did he care? No, not really.<p>

Lydia's mother bit her lip. Without her knowing it, Beetlejuice could easily read her mind. She was calculating.  
>Delia had always presumed Beetleman was younger than she and Charles, but she would have still put him at older than <em>that<em>. Not because he looked it, he didn't - in fact, he looked _younger_ than thirty - but his age just... didn't add up. Especially considering he had a child.  
>She could've sworn he hadn't aged a day since the first time they'd met.<p>

"You were quite young when B. J. was born? Younger than Lydia is now?" She asked.

Beetlejuice started. The idea that a woman younger than Lydia could have a baby was frightening; it reminded him that his girlfriend was at a perfectly substantial child-bearing age. This implication was both heart-warming and terrifying.  
>"Y-Yeah?" He replied, though he sounded unsure.<br>He watched as Delia seemed to decide something, maybe that it made sense, and nodded once. "I see. Sorry! I should let you go back to your room."

Beetlejuice scratched the back of his neck. He wondered how much of the ice remained in Delia's bucket, or how much of it was water by now.  
>Managing a laugh as he turned, he gave her a half-hearted wave good night. "N-No sweat."<br>Beginning to head down the hall towards a room – _any _room – that was in the opposite direction to the Deetzs', Beetlejuice hoped that Delia wasn't going to stand and watch him until he entered one. Just as he'd cleared two feet, Delia suddenly gasped behind him, enough to make him stop.  
>"Oh! Mr Beetleman! One more thing!"<p>

He dutifully turned.

Delia's eyes stared out from her face-mask, glinting despite the dark of the corridor.

_'Nice that little Beetlejuice got himself a good gal.' _Sid had said. _**Beetlejuice**._

Delia smiled. "... Does B. J. have a nickname?" She asked carefully.  
>Beetlejuice stalled, the random line of enquiry setting him instantly on edge.<p>

_What kinda question is that?_ He thought, dazed. He didn't know if it was a trap or genuine curiosity.  
>Eventually he shrugged, letting out a short laugh. "No. No, no nickname, ahaha."<p>

Delia's face started to rumple in confusion, causing the firming mask spread across it to crack and wrinkle. She composed herself and smiled wide to try and disguise how disconcerted she really felt. Polite in her puzzlement, she tipped her head on one side. "Then… who's 'Beetlejuice'?"

The ghost had had one foot raised midair ready to carry on walking. Now he froze in place, startled.  
>He turned to face Delia fully, forcing his expression into one that was equally inquisitive and polite (not that he had a polite bone in his body) rather than show his true guilty horror. Unable to repeat his own name, he instead tipped his head on one side curiously. "Um… come again?"<br>"Beetlejuice?" Delia pressed.  
>Despite himself, he mentally counted: two out of three.<p>

He chuckled nervously, beginning to perspire. "W-Where'd you hear that?"  
>Delia shrugged. "From your relatives."<p>

Panic quickly set in.  
>"Oh, r-right! That's—uh, well, I, uh… I guess that'd be, uh… w-what they call <em>me<em>, ma'am." Beetlejuice said, unable to stop the uncomfortable laughter that accompanied his stammer. He felt like a great weight had settled on his shoulders. He'd began his reply trying to think of an excuse and denial before finally giving in, and they both knew that that was obvious. "You know families. Some weird names just stick."

Delia was finding it hard to breathe normally. Staring at the twitchy man before her, she wanted to imagine he hadn't just said that, wanting the memory of this conversation go over her head in firm denial. The implications didn't bode well.  
>Eyeing Lydia's door uneasily, she tried to quiet her motherly instincts and feigned a wide smile. "I see. Well, good night, Mr Beetleman."<p>

Beetlejuice knew he'd given her the wrong answer before her ultimately foreboding reaction. With dread, he somehow knew that he and Lydia would feel the consequences of this later.  
>"Y-Yeah. Night, Mrs D."<p>

They parted ways, walking in opposite directions.  
>As soon as Delia's back was turned and she was a good way down the hall, Beetlejuice headed for the stairwell as he had originally intended, and juiced himself into his trademark suit for good measure.<p>

Along down the hall, Delia was chewing her lip anxiously. She subconsciously hoped that by the time she reached her room she would have justified every little detail in Beetleman's story that seemed out of place.

She _must_ have misheard Sid and Irma at dinner. Better yet, the couple were old, and old folks get names and nicknames mixed up all the time - why, at the last Christmas dinner, Charles' mother had kept calling him Clyde, and had kept referring to Lydia as 'Claudia', 'Olivia', and anything that sounded similar.  
>Sid and Irma couldn't think Lydia was in a relationship with <em>Mr Beetleman, <em>Delia had never heard of something so absurd. They had just gotten tongue-tied, that was all.

Then again, much as she wanted to say there was no doubt in her mind on the matter, she _did_ just catch Beetleman leaving Lydia's room, half-dressed, mussed and sheepishly nervous. The mental pictures that ensued were not pleasant.

_Don't be so ridiculous, Delia Deetz! _She scolded herself as she unlocked the door to her room._ Lydia is dating B. J.. We've _met _him. We _know _they're together. There is nothing between her and Beetleman.  
><em>

Firm-faced, she stepped into the room and closed the door behind her.

_Lydia is __not the kind of girl to ruin her first relationship by having an... _affair_ with her boyfriend's father. And she's not the type to use a poor boy as a cover-up while she skulks around with a man old enough to be... well, too old to want to be with her. Beetleman __was giving her his cell phone, just as he said._

Dropping the ice-bucket down on the sidetable, a hand came up to Delia's head.  
>After a while, she glanced nervously back at the closed door behind her, and frowned.<p>

If that was all true... then why did this is all still feel so suspicious?

* * *

><p>Beetlejuice hovered down the main stairwell, twitchy and restless. As if his nightmare hadn't been enough to fluster him, karma had decided to send Mrs Ditz herself right to him.<br>Something was bothering him, more than he'd like to admit - the fact that the Resort of Last Resort used to be a maximum security prison. It had been filled with criminals that had performed petty crimes, convicts that had then been repurposed into staff members.

_Harry Black._

Such an ordinary, unassuming name with such chilling undertones. _His_ was a face B. J. had anticipated running into eventually, in the unforeseeable future, but not yet. He hoped that dreaming about him now wasn't a _sign_. Not that he believed in signs, exactly.

Without knowing why, he aimlessly drifted through the walls of the hotel until he found what he was looking for: a records office, empty of staff. Once there, he grabbed a random drawer of a random filing cabinet and zapped its interior so that its wad of folders and files were belched into the air and levitated before his eyes. Takings. No. Personnel files. No. Record of past convicts. _**Yes**_.

Paperwork flung erratically in various directions as he sifted through the contents of countless drawers, frantic.  
>'B'. Where was the folder for <em>'B'<em>? It had to be here somewh– aah, there.

Papers for Bakers, Bells, Bentleys and Bigs fell discarded to his feet until he reached what he was searching for. _Black_. Of course, being the Neitherworld, there were hundreds upon thousands of men that happened to have that same surname, and judging by this folder quite a lot of them were criminals too. Even when Beetlejuice narrowed it down to the correct forename there were still too many.

Seeing _H__is_ name in print after such a dream was giving Beetlejuice the creeps, a cold chill running through him. Mug-shot after mug-shot sailed past his eyes, when finally the face of his nightmares froze midair before him.  
>Paling grey skin, a shock of black hair that had once been slicked and neat but had grown wild in death, predatory blue eyes and a face that could be both casually charming and stoically cruel. In the photograph he was just suffering from the effects of decomposure; his nose looked as though it might cave in and his skin was peeling back from his skull in places, but nevertheless there was no mistaking him.<p>

Beetlejuice recoiled so suddenly that his power seemed to short-circuit and everything that had been suspended in the air fell to the floor, gravity taking hold. He wasn't sorry to see the photograph scatter in amongst the piles upon piles of paperwork, burying itself in the process.  
>Breath coming fast, he clapped his hands together and watched as the paperwork righted itself and flew back into its designated place (or so he hoped). All, except, of course, for the file on Black.<p>

Black _had _been imprisoned here, he'd been transferred from Neitherworldian Alcatraz around fifty years ago to serve out the rest of his sentence. A sentence that, frankly, hadn't been good enough in Beetlejuice's eyes. But, something had happened, and according to Black's file he'd been-  
>Beetlejuice stared, dumbfounded, at the paperwork before him. A large section had been torn out, and, rather conveniently, it was the section about Black's subsequent imprisonment here. There was no way of knowing if he had been released, placed under some kind of afterlife-long restriction or service, or even exorcised. The information just <em>ended there<em>.

Trying to keep a cool, passive façade, not wanting to feel like the situation was out of his control, Beetlejuice manually and sloppily slipped the paper back where it ought to be.

Aww heck, even if Black _had_ been released, he hadn't tracked him down yet. That was a good sign, considering how in the public eye Beetlejuice usually was.

He was just about to float out of the room entirely when he stopped before he reached the door. He didn't normally listen to his gut unless it was asking for sustenance, but this time he was compelled.  
><em>Staff records.<br>_Why he wanted to check them he had no idea. Even if in his dream Black had been wearing some kind of questionable uniform, there was nothing to say that that had something to do with reality. It was probably more to do with Beetlejuice having had a beetle-burger right before his forty-winks. After all, Beetlejuice wasn't __psychic, __he wasn't even smart enough to listen to his subconscious half the time.

After pulling the staff register and putting it back again, satisfied there was no Harry Black on record, a kind of relieved peace seemed to wash over him.  
>He had nothing to worry about. Nothing at all.<p>

Whistling and passing through the office door without even opening it, he began to head back up to his and Lydia's room.

Beetlejuice knew there was a rule about waiting an hour between meals and going for a swim; but now he thought about applying that to sleep. There was that, or maybe a visit to Dr. Void and a subsequent bump on the noggin was in order. Anything to stop these ridiculous nightmares.

When Beetlejuice made it back to the room, he phased right through the door. "Lyds?"  
>After receiving no reply, he floated over to the four-poster to check on her. Lydia was curled up on top of the bed, still in his shirt, fast asleep with her long dark hair fanned around her. Feeling better just for seeing her, Beetlejuice perched on the edge of the bed beside her and smiled.<br>It wasn't long, however, before his thoughts took a sudden, dark turn.

_'She isn't dead yet... You wouldn't have to worry about her getting tired of a dead guy… finding someone her own age… running off. She'd be all yours. Forever.'_

A strange kind of emotional detachment overcame him. Beetlejuice frowned, and shook his head before the tendril of thought took hold.  
>Ridiculous. He would <em>never<em> let anything happen to Lyds.

Being dead wasn't a way out, Beetlejuice probably knew that better than anyone. Everybody dies, and everybody is a long time dead, but life is a fleeting gift. It had been something he'd wasted, and something that had subsequently been taken from him.

The idea of Lydia kicking the bucket and becoming an advantage in their relationship was the stupidest thing he'd ever heard. He was selfish, but he wasn't so selfish that he wanted the one precious thing in his afterlife to give up everything for him.  
>Beetlejuice didn't know what the future held, he didn't know what would happen in ten, twenty, thirty years time, but he knew that he'd be with Lydia for all of them.<p>

Stirring him into looking at her, Lydia's eyelashes fluttered in her sleep, her lips parting as she exhaled softly. Beetlejuice began to worry she was getting cold. _You'll catch yer death... _He thought, but then quickly felt ill again. Considering the mood he was in, that hadn't been the right choice of words at all.  
>Rather than disturbing her, he beckoned a spare blanket out of the wardrobe and draped it over her. As his fingers brushed against her exposed skin, Beetlejuice felt her warmth spread through him.<p>

He'd protect that warmth, even if it killed him all over again.

* * *

><p>After the Gagalot had proved to be such a hit with the Deetzs, they weren't keen on being served breakfast in the Slop Bucket. Likewise, Beetlejuice and Lydia were far from enthusiastic about sharing a table with both Lydia's parents and Sid and Irma, waiting for the tumultuous conversations to ensue. Beetlejuice, especially, was antsy; his aunt and uncle knew he and Lydia were together, and Delia now knew him by his <em>real <em>name. The chances of being caught out over breakfast were tipped, and not in their favour.

His throat was dry as he and the Deetzs picked a round table in the centre of the food hall and left two seats free for the relatives he hoped wouldn't show up.  
>As always around his family, Beetlejuice was not himself. Drumming his fingers on the table restlessly, his gaze swiveled around the room on permanent alert.<br>He'd successfully buried the trauma from his nightmare, something he was prone to doing. 'Tomorrow's a new day' and all that; it simply wasn't in his character to remain paranoid for long.

As soon as Sid and Irma had walked through the doors of the Slop Bucket, Beetlejuice pushed his seat back noisily and stood. "_Welp_. Early bird catches the worm. Gonna hit the breakfast bar,"  
>Lydia didn't know whether to join him or stay behind in case a damning conversation arose, while Charles brushed himself down and followed. "I—I think I'll join you there, Beetleman,"<p>

_There goes my escape_, Lydia thought tiredly as the two men left the table. Looking down at her placing, she soon noticed out of the corner of her eye that her stepmother was watching her curiously. Lydia raised her head. "What is it, Mom?"  
>"Oh! Nothing, Lydia, dear," Delia excused, smiling. It was clear she had something on her mind however, and Lydia watched as her stepmother paused, fiddled with her knife and fork on the table, then put them to rest. "... So, how is B. J.?" She finally asked, trying to sound like she wasn't prying.<br>The odd question wasn't one Lydia had been expecting. She shrugged. "Um… I don't know, I haven't spoken to him yet, Mom,"  
>"But I thought you spoke to him last night?"<p>

_What? _Lydia stopped, confused. _What is she talking about_?

"Last night?" She repeated before thinking better of it. In the next moment, she was mentally kicking herself. If her stepmother was being naively honest then that meant it was part of some story Beetlejuice had made up, and it also meant he had a lot of explaining to do. Not wanting to destroy whatever alibi he'd created for whatever reason, Lydia nodded emphatically. "Oh, last _night_! Yes, um. He's–"  
>Before she could finish, Sid and Irma sat down opposite them, cutting off any chances of recovery.<p>

"Lydia-dumpling! You look fresh this mornin'," Irma beamed as soon as she'd taken her seat.  
>The young woman sank low in her chair. The nickname was a new one, and she didn't know whether she liked it or hated it.<p>

"Look a little flushed, kid. Didn't'cha get much sleep?" Sid cracked, and then laughed in such a way that Lydia instantly caught his undertone. Her cheeks became a furious pink in colour.  
>Delia sniffed. "Not with her boyfriend calling in the early hours of the morning," She commented, oblivious. This, of course, only succeeded in deepening Lydia's blush, turning her face flame-red as she realised how Beetlejuice's relatives could - and did - misinterpret it.<br>"_Pahhh_-!" Sid slapped the table as he laughed. "Taught the kid well,"  
>"Oh, please, dear," Irma scolded. "Not at breakfast,"<p>

"I'm— gonna get some food!" Lydia said so quickly that she cried it, throwing in the towel and fleeing the table.  
>She'd never before been so embarrassed. Blindly charging towards the nearest breakfast bar, which appeared to have the longest queue, she latched onto the end of it and let out a sigh. When she eventually looked up, she could see that Beetlejuice and her father were being served at the omelette bar on the other side of the room, and judging by the green and queasy look to her father's face she could only assume that Beetlejuice had ordered over-messy rotten eggs. Her lips quirked into something that wasn't quite a smile. <em>Classy, Beej. Real classy. <em>She thought with sarcasm.

Back at the table, Delia was having a rather one-sided conversation with Irma. For once, Delia found herself being talked under the table as the older woman carried on about the yoga class she'd joined way back when, and how it made her feel decades younger. She soon found herself hoping that Charles or Beetleman would hurry back to the table, and relieve her so that she could get herself something to eat, or that Sid and Irma would finally decide they were hungry and rise. She couldn't excuse herself as it was, it would be rude to leave Beetleman's relatives sitting alone.

Becoming thirsty, Delia beckoned over an attendant and asked for a glass of lemonade. She let out a puzzled laugh when the waiter prompted: "_Lem_onade, or _phlegm_onade, ma'am?" before playing along and requesting the "one that came from a fruit". Luckily, he seemed to understand.  
>During dinner at the Gagalot the Deetzs had set up a tab, and so Delia now fished in her wallet for the small card to hand to the waiter. Put on the spot as he waited for her form of payment, she got so frustrated that she tipped its contents all over the table. Having finally located the tab-card, she handed it to the attendant with a smile. He then nodded, and left to get her drink, just as Sid stood up and tapped his wife on the shoulder. "C'mon, kid. Let's get some grub,"<p>

"Dear, shall I pick you up something to eat?" Irma asked Delia as she rose.  
>Gathering up all the various cards, Delia raised her head and shook it, politely. "No, thank you, I'll be up there in a moment,"<br>Irma nodded in understanding and then followed her retreating husband, leaving Delia alone at the table - holding the fort, so to speak.  
>She began to sort the cards back into her wallet – plastic debit and credit cards, loyalty cards, business cards… she even had one of Mr Beetleman's old cards, one that was probably now about seven years old. It was wrinkled, creased and dog-eared and parts of it were faded with age, but for the most part it was intact.<br>_'B. J. Beetleman. Caterer.'  
><em>Delia went to put it away along with the others when she stopped, and stared at it.

_B. J._? But… wasn't that the name of Lydia's boyfriend?

At that moment, Charles sat down beside her, and the man in question opposite her.  
>Delia quickly pocketed the card and put her wallet back in her purse.<br>Charles was eyeing 'Mr Beetleman' uneasily. "What, uh, s-strange tastes you have, Beetleman,"  
>The toast on 'Beetleman's' plate was so black that it resembled a slab of coal.<br>"Pays to have it sometimes, Chuckster," Beetlejuice shot back, sticking a fork into his cremated toast.

Delia pounced. "Mr Beetleman,"  
>"Huh?" Beetlejuice raised his head, mouth having been primed to accept his breakfast.<p>

"This is going to sound _terribly _rude considering we've known you all these years but… I don't believe we've ever known your first name,"

Beetlejuice's eyes widened. Delia sure was full of questions this vacation.  
>What in the Neitherworld had he decided in the past?<br>His alternate identities were usually taken from his own name, but since Lydia had forced 'B. J. Beetleman' into existence he had no idea what they'd agreed his handy-man guise's was. Nat, like his father? No way. So then, what did they use with Hack Torso? Rex? Was that it?  
>"Uh… Rex," He lied, shoving the toast into his mouth.<p>

Delia's face drained of all colour, but she managed to fake a smile.  
>She tried to justify his outright lie, tried to 'fill the gap' as she had in the early hours of this morning, but… she couldn't. "Oh. I- I see," She said heavily, still smiling. Her face ached from the strain of it.<br>"Um, d-d-dear, you look like you need to get some food in you," Charles commented. "You're looking pale,"  
>"Yes…" Delia said quietly, standing up. She shakily turned, numb, and joined a buffet line queue, staring straight ahead.<p>

Delia felt physically ill. The inconsistencies were beginning to add up, especially after last night's conversation with Beetleman in the hall. Lies and excuses were being tossed around left, right, and centre, and she was beginning to think very bleak thoughts. At the very _least_, she now knew Beetleman was a conman.

Something was going on here, and she needed to get to the bottom of it.

* * *

><p>Beetlejuice and Lydia were pleasantly surprised when Sid and Irma ran into friends that they frequently holidayed with here, and decided to join them for breakfast instead. Their joy came to an end, however, as the remainder of breakfast was clouded with an uneasy, tense atmosphere; a breakfast that was henceforth defined with very little talk.<br>Delia, at first, was spaced out, blue eyes faraway, thinking, but towards the end of the early morning meal she was throwing 'Mr Beetleman' and her step-daughter _looks_. Her angry, prompting eyes demanded answers, but without an audible question Lydia simply felt uncomfortable.

When everyone was finished, Lydia opted to clear the table. With no one objecting, she gathered up the trays and plates and made her way across the hall, before manoeuvring the stack of trays into the standing rack beside the kitchen's swing doors. Before she turned to go she became aware of someone stood behind her, and sidestepped, thinking she was in their way. They sidestepped along with her, and reached out to touch her elbow.  
>"<em>I thought I recognized you from somewhere<em>," A familiar voice declared.  
>Lydia jumped and turned.<p>

Face to face with the lifeguard from yesterday, her heart jolted in surprise. "Oh. H-Hello again,"

He wasn't in his uniform's tank top and shorts this morning but in some kind of casual, off-duty get up, with peculiar belted straps criss-crossing all over him.  
>He levied a finger at her, smiling in a charming way. He seemed a lot cooler and relaxed than before, and it wasn't so hard to feel at ease around him as it had been when she'd been hovering over a pool of hungry piranha.<br>The lifeguard grinned. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but aren't you Lydia Deetz, the singer?"

Lydia let out a breath and smiled. Out of earshot of her parents, she decided it was okay to feel flattered. "Yeah, you caught me," She laughed.  
>The lifeguard extended his one grey hand that wasn't clasping a glass, and she shook it firmly. It was cold, but then, of course, she was used to that. "I'm Tate; man in charge of stopping folks finding a way to <em>actually<em> drown their sorry, dead asses. Read that your career went down the pan since you ran off with your manager. That tabloid gossip?"  
>"No, haha, it's—it's true," Lydia admitted, nodding slightly. She allowed her gaze to swing slightly in Beetlejuice's direction but recovered fast when she saw he wasn't at his seat.<p>

"The guy's pretty unpopular, I heard,"  
>Lydia couldn't help but frown a little at this. "Not to me." She defended, before she did a double-take, and stared at the man incredulously.<p>

_'The guy' —As though he has no idea?_

"… Wait." Lydia challenged. "You _haven't_ heard of Beetlejuice?"  
>The dark-haired man raised an eyebrow. "Should I have? I've been kind of off the radar when it comes to Neitherworld's recent news,"<p>

Well, that certainly made a change. Lydia smiled and waved a hand in dismissal. "Oh… N-Never mind."  
>At the peripheral of her vision, she caught sight of her parents getting up from their table. Tate looked too, before she turned back to him, gestured and smiled apologetically. "I… should be going, actually,"<br>The lifeguard shrugged his shoulders. "Sure,"

As Lydia made to go, she glanced back over her shoulder and offered him a smile. "Thanks again. For yesterday."  
>"Any time. I'm only sorry it put you off your swim,"<br>Lydia let out a small laugh, smiled wider, and then nodded once before Tate watched her walk away.

Her family had already left the breakfast hall; it was only when she was a good twenty feet away that Tate realised she hadn't been left entirely alone, but a blond guy was looking around, his head almost completing a three-sixty degree turn as he checked the bustling room. Her manager-turned-boyfriend, Tate presumed.

"B. J.!" Lydia cried, dashing over to him.

The lifeguard suddenly dropped his glass of water without a downwards glance.

Beetlejuice physically turned to Lydia, head aligning correctly on his shoulders before he wrapped an arm around her to escort her out of the hall. In the meantime, Tate got a good, clear look at his profile, and flinched so hard that he knocked into a nearby customer.

"Hey!" The man piped up.  
>Tate turned, expression one of fury, and grabbed the tourist by the collar. "Watch where you're going," He hissed threateningly, his charming demeanour having melted away entirely.<br>"Y-Yes, sir," The tourist whimpered before Tate dropped him and turned towards the kitchen's double doors, flinging himself through them without a backwards glance. Storming out towards the staff-only door at the back, he threw the door to and slammed it behind him.  
>His temper only continued to rage as he began heading up the stairs towards the live-in staff quarters.<p>

_Beetlejuice_.

_B. Juice._

_**B. J.**__._

That messy long blond hair, peaked nose, overbite and obnoxiously cocky attitude… oh, sure, his hair sat a little higher on his forehead now and his skin had taken on that purple corpse-like tint, but 'Tate' wasn't an idiot.  
>He was so mad that he slammed his fist hard enough against the wall that it left a crevice in the plasterwork. Mad, yes, and yet… something was outrageously funny. He didn't even realise he'd been cackling since he'd first mounted the stairwell.<p>

B. J. had been sat under his nose _the whole time_. All the snippets of conversations about an infamous 'Beetlejuice'… he never in a million years would've linked him to _**the**_ piano punk from Winter River.

When 'Tate' reached his room, he locked the door behind him and headed straight to his desk. Here, his copy of the Handbook for the Recently Deceased had been completely cut to pieces, paragraphs snatched out of it like snippets of newspaper articles and pasted to his wall, as well as sketches, designs, various research notes and confidential Bureau documents that he'd paid through the teeth for in Alcatraz.

Oh, he had work to do. He had _lots _of work to do.

* * *

><p><strong>AN**

In _Laugh of the Party_, B. J. produces a business card in which he states his Beetleman guise's first name _is_ 'B. J.'. Practically all the other business cards just say 'Beetleman'. I think, too, it happens to be one of the only cards he actually hands to Delia. Too bad for him and Lyds that that's the one Delia ended up keeping. (sly grin)

As for Beetlejuice being thirty-seven, I believe Keaton was that age when he played him in the film, so I thought that was the best thing to base it on.

**I hope the different identities and confusion around names flying around in this chapter doesn't confuse anyone. **  
><strong>In case of confusion, here's the low-down:<strong>

Beetlejuice's past/real name is B. J. ?, (you'll find out probably in the next chapter) but he now considers his real name to be Beetlejuice.  
>Anyone from his Lifepast would recognise him as B. J., and not necessarily as Beetlejuice.  
>His family, however, and now even Lydia, recognise him by both names.<br>This is because he only used B. J. in life, and only Beetlejuice in death.  
>Beetlejuice's family, and Lydia, obviously know 'Beetlejuice' to be her real boyfriend.<br>Likewise, if they were to hear her parents referring to 'B. J.' as being her boyfriend, they wouldn't bat an eyelid.

To the Deetzs, he is, of course, Mr ? Beetleman, and they don't know him as anything but.  
>However, Delia has found out all of a sudden that he's also called Beetlejuice.<br>She thinks 'Beetlejuice' is a nickname based on his surname, not his real/first name.

In _Stage Pressure_, Lydia (accidentally?) forced Beetlejuice to create the identity of Beetleman's son, B. J. Beetleman, another of Beetlejuice's alter egos.  
>Lydia, Beej, Delia and Charles are the only ones that know B. J. Beetleman 'exists', and only Charles and Delia think he's 'real'.<br>If Delia and Charles were to hear 'B. J.' in conversation, they would think of Beetleman's 'son'.  
>The Deetzs believe 'B. J. Beetleman' is Lydia's boyfriend, and if 'Mr Beetleman' or 'Beetlejuice' were referred<br>to as being Lydia's boyfriend they would be horrified and the jig would be up.  
>Now that Delia has discovered 'Mr Beetleman' claimed to be 'Mr <em>B. J.<em> Beetleman' in an old business card,  
>but is now declaring he's called Rex, she knows that he's a liar, but she doesn't yet know how <em>much<em> he's lying.

I... probably made that sound more confusing than it is. x_o  
>I hope it's not. T_T<p> 


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N  
><strong>So I just realised that Black's facial features, at least as far as his nose and skin are concerned, aren't all that different from Jesse Germs. That wasn't intentional; there's no connection. I'm sorry there hasn't been an update for a while but I was busy working on a Lydia cosplay that I later wore at the London Comic Con! Apologies.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Nine<strong>

Harry Black had once been your Average Joe – easygoing, frank, engaged to his childhood sweetheart, and plainer than a blank sheet of paper. After marching off to serve his country he'd went on to become a successful Army Air Force pilot along with Donny Duce in the war. And that… that was where everything had gone downhill.

There was only so much death and destruction Harry had been able to take before he'd stopped seeing the world in colour, and started seeing it, not in black and white, not even in shades of grey, but in shades of black. During that long campaign he'd gradually become desensitized to violence, to death, and sadism had begun to envelope him.

He'd watched as the goody-two-shoes, mommy's boy, Duce, had crashed his plane right into the ocean after shooting down five enemy planes and his ejection seat had malfunctioned. Harry hadn't been sorry to see him bite the dust, he'd hated the guy. He'd hated him even more when he'd returned home to Connecticut only for Donny to have been posthumously awarded a medal. Despite eventually receiving his own recognition, Harry remained bitter. His ceremony hadn't at all been on the same scale as Duce's. He would have had to have died in action to receive such commendation, it seemed. What about _**him**_? Wasn't it survival of the fittest; wouldn't it have been more appropriate for _him_ to have received the highest honour?

His fiancée, Alice, had struggled with his return and his radically different personality. He was too violent, and he took to _hitting _her. She tried to tell him that the war had changed him, but he wouldn't listen, not until it was too late. Post-traumatic stress disorder was a term that hadn't existed back in the forties and wasn't coined until years after Harry had found himself in the Neitherworld, and so 'psychosis' was the brand he'd instead been marked with. It had put further strain on his relationship. He grew distant from his fiancée; began hanging around in bars all day and all night, drowning his sorrows and sleeping with whores. He couldn't find any work, and became an alcoholic. After getting into a drunken fight one night he'd proceeded to beat some homeless cretin to death a couple of towns over, but the icing on the cake came when he hit Alice so hard he broke her jaw. She left him.  
>Harry couldn't care about anything anymore; he was on a path towards Self Destruct.<p>

His bar of choice was Tommy's Bar, even with the awful live piano gig in the corner. This day – this one damn day – he was in his usual spot in the bar, with an arm around a brunette with lower than low morals and an even higher skirt, and surrounded by the few friends he had left. He didn't even notice there was no ungodly piano music in the background this one lunchtime, not until the front door swung open and a guy in a pinstriped suit walked right in.  
>The bartender and owner looked up angrily at the sudden arrival of his tardy employee. "You're late. <em>Again<em>."

The newcomer had long blond hair that hung down to his shoulders, and despite being slender for the most part he had a rounded face and the very slight beginnings of a pot-belly. The blond removed his hat and hung it up on the coat stand, an unlit cigarette dangling between his lips. "Yeah, yeah, there's nobody here," He said in a gravelly voice that in places climbed in pitch. Flippant, comical, obnoxious. The kind of voice that made Harry's date beside him look up instantly.

"Are you trying to be funny?" Tommy accused.

"No-o-o, perish the thought. But if you want me to be _funny_…"

"B. J., just… do what I pay you to do,"

The guy – B. J. – cracked his knuckles and then made his way over to the piano a few booths down from where Harry and his friends were sitting.  
>Black ignored the pianist for the most part, but groaned at his friends' reactions when the pianist livened up the classical piece he'd started to play and gave it more of an upbeat tempo.<p>

The table's topic soon turned to the war, to the fellows in this town and the outlying satellite villages that had been lost. Harry reclined in his seat, smiling at the girl he was hoping to take home later that evening. "I'm pretty much one of the few to survive in my regiment." He boasted, slicking back his dark hair.  
>"Do you want a medal, or a chest to pin it on?" His friend opposite him quipped, before everyone at the table roared with laughter. Harry's blood boiled, eyes narrowing. "That's right, laugh while you can,"<p>

"Hey, weren't you there with Donny Duce? Blond kid from Winter River? I went to school with him,"  
>"Pffft. That pansy? Yeah. He forgot how to use the 'eject' function and got himself killed. I can't believe they even mentioned it in the papers,"<p>

A shocked hush fell over the table. If Harry had been more intuitive, he would have realised, too, that the piano piece had suddenly hit the wrong note and was henceforth played quieter. The pianist was twitching in his seat.

"Harry, you shouldn't–"  
>"Have a little respect for the dead,"<p>

Black snorted and shut his eyes, folding his arms behind his head. "I'm just saying what we're all thinking. I was there. I knew him. If you ask me, he deserved it. He drove me _crazy_. And now? Now he's gone, they go and _honour _him. And what about me? We were both doing our job, why does he get all the glory? He isn't a _hero_,"

No longer playing quietly, the piano's music suddenly became loud and obnoxious, so loud that it began to irritate Harry. The chords all set him on edge, _bad _chords that weren't even in tune, and as the pianist slammed down the keys, Harry wondered if the guy had gone from being an adult prodigy to an infant beginner.  
>"<em>Hey! <em>Piano guy! Can it!" He cried over his shoulder without turning.  
>Behind him, the pianist slammed his hands down on all the keys his fingers could lay on in a mish-mash of sound. Then, the piano stool scraped back noisily on the wood floor, and Harry thought he heard the pianist rise. Smug, believing he'd managed to get the guy to retire, he reclined. That was, at least, until he noticed the wide looks of horror on his friends' faces. The pianist's footsteps didn't retreat. They marched on round to the booth they were sat in.<p>

B. J. snatched a relatively full glass of water off of the table and tossed it right in Black's face.

Everyone at the table gasped, eyes trained on the wet ticking-time-bomb opposite them, but remained stock-still in horrified puzzlement.  
>"I think y'need to cool off, <em>buddy,<em>" B. J. hissed.  
>Harry, spluttering and turning beetroot-red in the face, jerked his head up and let out an almost animal growl of fury. "Why, you-!"<p>

B. J. leant in close, green eyes narrowed. "I'm the only one allowed to insult my brother, _hotshot_. I don't care how fantastic you were when you were out there killin', 'cause you've got blood on your hands. Difference between you and Donny is: Donny didn't enjoy it; he just did it 'cause he had to. Kinda like me and my piano here," He said as he straightened to his full height, gesturing back to the musical instrument behind him. His tone had transformed from threatening to an almost comical casualness, but Harry wasn't buying it.  
>"You've picked on the <em>wrong<em> guy…" He warned, standing up.

Tommy thought to interrupt before things could really kick off. Slamming his hands down on the bar counter, his deep voice ricocheted around the paneled room. "B. J.! Get back here _now!_ And you, Mr Black. Outside,"  
>As B. J. pulled back and marched around to the staff side of the bar, a seated veteran from the last war rose from his seat. Aggressively marching over to the group of men and floozies, he pulled Harry up out from the booth before dragging him out of the bar. If there was one thing the old timer couldn't stand, it was a man without respect.<p>

A handful of Harry's friends, startled and guilty, proceeded to join him out on the street corner, where Harry had taken to pacing in his rage. His blue eyes practically silver, Black's usually handsome face was twisted into something inconceivably ugly. Running shaking hands over his slicked-back hair, Harry felt that it was still wet from where the water had been thrown at him and balled his hands up into fists. "That _bastard_. Who the hell does he think he is?" He cried, furiously turning to glare at the door to Tommy's Bar. He had no intention of drinking in _there _ever again.

His sandy-haired friend – the one who had admitted going to school with Donny – grimaced, fidgeting a little sheepishly. "Uh… the big brother of the war hero you were just insulting?"  
>Harry had already figured that out from the way the pianist had been talking, and to have his friend point out something so redundant only made him angrier.<br>"He's more irritating than his damned brother! And when was the last time he took a _bath_?"

His second friend sniffed, and shrugged vaguely, nodding his head towards the ceiling-to-floor window that faced out onto the street. From here the booth they'd been sat in was clearly visible. "I don't know, but the honey you were sat with doesn't appear to mind."  
>Harry followed his friend's gaze and saw that the brunette was throwing flirtatious glances in the direction of the bar. One of those types that liked a bit of rough, no doubt.<br>Harry narrowed his eyes. "She's expendable," He dismissed.

Now that the subject of women had come up, his friends glanced at each other, prompting one another to say something that had been on their minds. Finally, one said hesitantly: "Did you... hear about Alice?"  
>At the mention of her name, Harry flinched. "What about her?" He mumbled, temples throbbing as his blood roared, uncomfortably loud, in his ears. His rage had cooled slightly, but this turn of the conversation was a foreboding one; he didn't know whether this was to be his recovery or the calm before the storm.<p>

His friends fell silent.

Their further hesitation only riling him up, Harry raised his head and glared in threatening prompt. "Well? Spit it out,"  
>"She's…" They looked between each other again, obviously anxious. "She's... gotten engaged to some factory-worker now."<p>

Harry's pupils retracted so completely they almost turned invisible for a brief second. The world was no longer in shades of black, but shades of red.  
>He was so stock still that his friends believed he was still processing the information, too stunned to respond.<p>

"I heard the wedding is in the spring sometime. They seem happy enou-" The man never got to finish, because when the two next looked up, Black was already charging off.  
>"Harry? <em>Harry!<em>" They called after his fast retreating form, but there was no getting through to him. A switch had flipped. Whatever humanity he'd had left had been turned completely off.

What happened next occurred in a dream-like fashion to Harry. One minute he was outside Tommy's Bar, the next he was standing outside a quaint little house that belonged to Alice's mother. He must have knocked, because his former fiancee opened up the door of her home, her beautiful face contorted in indecision. _His _Alice. She didn't know whether to shut him out and ignore him or give him a chance for old time's sake.

He needed to talk to her. She wanted to talk inside.  
><em>"But no, no honey, you need to come with me right now."<br>_She deduced he'd been drinking; he promised he hadn't. Somehow, she believed him. She even trusted him - _left_ with him. He explained to her he wanted to talk it all over, that he wanted to apologise for his actions, for mistreating her, that he was happy she was moving on. Empty words, just as empty as Harry himself.

Alice must have known something was wrong as soon as he'd taken a detour down a trail of alleys, because next she said, _"_Where are we going, Harry?"_  
><em>They were just walking, that was all. And besides, they couldn't be seen together out on the main road, the rumour mill would start to circulate. Gossips would announce that they were back on, that maybe Alice wouldn't be marrying the factory-worker after all.

The factory-worker. Harry soon brought him up.  
>Alice couldn't marry <em>him<em>, she was still engaged to Harry, wasn't she? At least, he still thought so. Alice disagreed. They argued. Harry insisted she was his; and he was still screaming it at her as he pulled the pistol out from the inside of his coat.  
><em>"I'm selfish, Alice, I'm really selfish." <em>  
>He raised the gun, and it fired. He didn't remember pressing the trigger, but his finger was on it nonetheless. He wasn't going to share her. If he couldn't have her, nobody could.<p>

The dream-haze ended then, and Harry's vision became clear, hyper-aware of his situation. Nobody had cared about a nameless beat-to-death hobo, but Alice had family, friends, a reputation, and now she was lying dead at his feet. He'd committed a _murder… _and a figure was quickly retreating from the mouth of the alley. A _witness._

Panicking, Harry raised his pistol and fired, but the bullet drove into a wall and not the back of the man's head. Not even into that long blond hair, or the crisp, pinstriped suit.

Harry leapt over Alice's body, carefully managing to avoid the blood that was only just beginning to pool on the floor, and tailed the spectator for as long as he could, firing like a madman and missing each time. Eventually, losing him in the labyrinth of alleys, Harry stopped running. His panic had led him on an unnecessary chase, because it _didn't matter_. He knew who'd he seen. It was Duce.

Leaving Alice where she'd fallen, Harry discarded the murder weapon in the depths of Winter River.  
>The possibility of B. J. skipping town or heading immediately to the police occurred to him, so he wondered whether it was best for him to vacate the town first. Harry, however, wasn't a calculating killer, he was spontaneous and he had a temper that quashed his usually superior logic. Instead of heading home and packing, instead of meeting up with his friends to get an alibi, he waited a while before charging right back to Tommy's Bar.<p>

Looking in through the window, he confirmed his suspicions. B. J. seemed to have only just arrived back to work, flustered as he sat back at his piano. What Harry could see of his face was pale. He was trying to keep his head down and act normal, in a way trying to salvage his own alibi. It wasn't good enough. He was still too much of a risk.

The next day, when Duce had convinced himself he hadn't seen what he'd thought he'd seen and hadn't heard the bullets that had been fired after him, Harry stormed into Tommy's Bar and pulled up a chair next to the pianist, feigning a placid expression that wasn't meant to put B. J. at ease. The way the blond tensed at his arrival was a dead giveaway.

"Hey there, B. J.," Harry breathed softly, arms folded.  
>B. J. glanced quickly at him out of the corner of his eye, managing a weary, forced smile. He missed a note in his piano piece. "Uh… hey, uh, Harry, right?"<br>He did a poor job of acting 'normal'. He was trying to sound too unthreatening, too friendly. He should have reminded Harry that he was now barred, for starters.

"That's right." Black nodded, looking over at the bar. Tommy wasn't working today, some leather-faced tank of a woman was manning the counter instead. Satisfied he wasn't going to be thrown out, he turned back to B. J., smiling like a shark. "Can we have a little talk? Man to man?"

B. J. suppressed a gulp, but the action of doing so was perhaps more audible than if he hadn't. "'bout what, exactly?" He asked, weaker than he meant to.

Harry leant forward in his seat, propping his elbow up on his knee and cupping his chin in the palm of his hand. He raised his thick eyebrows curiously. "Where were you last night, bud?"  
>B. J. hesitated. "Uh." He gestured with his head at the piano, trying to smile wider. "Here. Right here. Funny you've come in actually, Tommy asked me to, uh, apologise to ya,"<p>

"Right, right. Let's just forget about the whole thing," Harry said, still sounding pleasant. "Didn't... see anything suspicious?"  
>"No, no, not me." B. J.'s hands travelled down the piano keys to play a low chord and a low note, and as he moved, Harry caught sight of the expensive wristwatch on his arm. Staring at this timepiece for only a second drew a question mark in Harry's mind. That wasn't something a pianist slob like him could be able to afford, especially when it was clear he didn't take work all that seriously. Just how was he living off this kind of wage anyway?<p>

Half-deducing something, Harry whistled. "My, my, that's some watch you've got there, Duce. Inherited?"  
>B. J. tensed again. "Uh… it's… new," He half-admitted. It was new to him anyway.<p>

Harry shook his head in mock-disbelief. "How _can _you afford something like that on the dirt Tommy must pay you?"  
>The pianist let out a throaty, nervous cackle, fidgeting where he sat. "I've, uh… got my fingers in a lot of pots,"<p>

_Bingo. _Harry wasn't an idiot, he could practically smell the nerves coming off of him, and it wasn't solely because B. J. had seen more than he should.  
>Harry unfolded his arms and leant forward, eyes narrowing. "Oh, I bet you have. Got deep pockets, Duce, huh? Doesn't matter how far you reach when they're not your own,"<p>

The whites of B. J.'s eyes shone in panic. "I don't know whut you're talking about…" He said quickly.  
>Harry dropped a hand onto B. J's back, patting him there heavily. "See- I think you do. They thought they'd caught the local conman, but people were still falling foul of him while the accused was being questioned. Pretty dumb of the real perpetrator, if you ask me. He could've got off,"<br>B. J.'s fingers began to cease up. He looked incredibly uncomfortable.  
>Harry leant even closer, smiling wider. When he spoke, his voice was barely above a whisper. "I'm not a squeal, I'm a 'live and let live' kind of guy. But <em>you're<em> not a squeal… are you, Duce?"

B. J. tried to put some firm confidence into his weakening voice. "No, sir. Got nothin' to squeal about,"  
>"Good," Harry said, before nodding once and straightening out of his seat. "Well. I'll see y'around,"<p>

He made good on his word.  
>When B. J. tried to skip town the very next evening, Harry intercepted him with a tree branch as long as his arm. It collided with the back of B. J's head, rendering him unconscious long enough for Harry to hogtie him and dangle him wrong-way-up off the bridge in B. J.'s own hometown.<br>In fact, he'd gotten a sadistic kind of pleasure in watching him hang upside down like a bat, especially after turning loose his pockets and seeing what kind of morbid shit he was into. Vampires, monsters, the occult. He wasn't _normal. _He was just a no-good loner, and nobody would miss him.

Eventually B. J. stirred awake, the blood rushing to his head, and glanced around in terror at the predicament he'd found himself in. He'd screamed into his gag, had struggled to get free, and Harry could only laugh at the muffled sounds of his protests.

"_Bw—nmmf! Mmmffm_!"

"Wakey, wakey," Harry cooed down at him. The blond's green eyes widened, pupils swivelling to look up at him. Harry gave B. J. a casual wave, smiling cruelly from ear to ear. "Evening, Mr Duce. How's it hanging?"  
>B. J. was too stunned to scream now, all he could do was stare down at the fast-running open water beneath him in horror. The half-constructed bridge he was dangling from began to creak and groan from his unexpected weight. The sound, however ominous, wasn't a warning, it was well-built enough even at this stage to take at least two cars on it at a time, but the implications made Harry laugh. "Listen to <em>that<em>, Duce. I think you'd better lose some weight. … Or is that this cement block I've got here? Gosh, I don't know," He started to pace, every footstep above B. J.'s head echoing through the wood.

"You know, I'm not a bad person, B. J. - I was a hero, for Pete's sake. But sometimes things just get too much for someone. You find yourself in over your head and you're drowning in something you can't get out of. I can't seem to let go of my temper, and you can't quit your earner on the side." Harry stopped, folding his arms. "Oh yeah, I've done a lot of thinking about that. I don't know if you're _really_ the hustler, but I've got a fair idea. I know your type."

B. J. shook his head furiously from side to side to try and dispel the gag that was tight around his mouth, desperate to speak in his own defense. "Mmm-mm!"  
>Harry was still continuing, however. He liked the sound of his own voice too much to be interrupted.<br>"But, see, if you _are _the chiseller then that's another reason why I can't trust you. There's too much incentive for you to squeal on me; if I go down, there's no risk of you getting caught,"

The gag slipped.  
>B. J. gasped for air. "Ya got it wrong!"<p>

Harry let out a humourless laugh. "Hah. Don't you go pulling the 'you scratch my back, and I'll scratch yours' card; you're in no position to gamble."  
>He removed the hands he'd since slipped into his pockets, and stooped down on one knee to look down at B. J. dangling helplessly in the air.<p>

"Can't we- talk about this?" B. J. tried, becoming light-headed.

Not happy with this ploy, Harry adjusted the pulley mechanism he was using to keep him in the air, and dropped the rope a few inches. B. J. let out a scream as he fell, only for him to stop short as the tip of his hair met the river's surface.  
>Harry sounded almost casual when he spoke next. "Y'know… I think this would be an appropriate way to go for you. Finally cleaning up your act, in more ways than one," He smirked, hands still on the pulley system, and eyed the cement block that was perched on the edge of the bridge, attached to the very rope that bound B. J. in place.<p>

Letting out an amused breath, Harry shook his head. "Your brother dropped down into water like this too, Duce. Only right that you join him,"

He was fiddling with the mechanism.

B. J. struggled furiously. "No—wait—"

The rope loosened.  
>Plummeting into the fast-flowing river, B. J. disappeared within the blink of an eye, the cement block following after him into the murky depths.<br>The sound when he struck the water and the ripples from the impact seemed to last for an eternity.

Harry sat and watched for as long as it was safe to, legs hanging off the side of the bridge. He had to be sure he didn't come back up again.

* * *

><p>Sat at his desk now, almost six whole decades later, Harry 'Tate' Black was writing. He wasn't a researcher per say, but he <em>was <em>a schemer. Looking down at his notes and plans, a delicious smirk played its way across his lips. This project was one that had dominated most of his afterlife up until this point, something deemed impossible by some but _was _all together possible.  
>A secret buried by the Council and Bureau for being too strong a measure - replaced instead by the act of banishing ghouls to the sandworms of Saturn - was not a legend well known to the general public. In fact, all the files on this doomsday device had been scattered to the winds, and it was only due to Harry's persistent belief and inside knowledge that was he able to piece together all the information he'd gathered so far. It had become an obsession.<p>

Upon arriving in the Neitherworld, Harry had been… fascinated. Suddenly he was _immortal_. He had no limits, no restrictions, and he had power – power, in fact, beyond his wildest dreams. Harry had had every opportunity to start all over again but… he hadn't wanted to. He quickly lost all enthusiasm in regards to his own immortality, he began to resent the other ghouls that were naively secure in their own afterlife. He wanted to find a way to cause chaos among the dead, and he became hell-bent on finding a way to remind the others of their own mortality. He'd be doing them a favour.

Now, Harry reclined in his chair and exhaled deeply, lost in thought. A faded diagram in one hand, library book on Capital Punishment in the other, he mulled over what he'd be able to _do_ with his discovery.

B. J.'s death – Harry's penultimate crime that had landed him a sitting in The Chair – had only been out of necessity. Because it had gotten him caught, however, led to Harry being, well, _bugged _by something over the years, something that had turned him steadily bitter as he rotted away in Neitherworldian Alcatraz. And that something was just this: B. J. hadn't had much he was afraid to lose. No woman, no family, no friends. Now… Now things had changed.

Harry thought about the pretty little thing he'd saved by the pool – Lydia – and smiled. It was almost a shame that she was now involved, but she was a factor he couldn't ignore.  
>Harry's perception of the world had changed as soon as he'd laid eyes on Beetlejuice, and now, Lydia was no longer a person to him, but a possession he had to release from B. J. 'Beetlejuice' Duce's custody.<p>

He made his mind up, and fast.

Harry soon found himself heading down to reception and, once there, winked at the girl behind the counter. "Morning, sweetheart,"  
>The girl threw him a disapproving look but she was still flattered, he could tell. Her lips were perked in amusement. "Morning, Tate. What can I do for you?"<p>

He scratched the back of his neck absently, composing his story on the spot. "Well, now. One of our guests left something by the pool. I was thinking of taking it up to them,"  
>The receptionist blinked back at him. She hesitated. "... I don't know, Tate…."<p>

"Come on, sugar-cube. It's the Deetzs,"  
>"Which room? We have two sets of Deetzs booked in,"<br>Harry thought on his feet. An early confrontation wouldn't be good; not before his project had reached completion, but he had to know what he was up against. A couple had left the food hall ahead of Lydia earlier, and they'd looked like fleshbags too. His lip curled. Her family, by any chance?

"Mr and Mrs," He tried, flashing his colleague a flirtatious smile.  
>The girl let out a breath, giving in to his charm. "You'll be wanting Room 257 then,"<br>"Thanks," He grinned, waving as he headed for the elevators. "You're a doll,"


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N:** Heads up! Some sexual content in this one.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Ten<strong>

Lurking at the end of a corridor in the hotel tower building's third floor, eyes fixed on the door of Room 257, Harry found himself waiting for no more than twenty minutes before a rounded, short-haired blond and a willowy red-head stepped out with a beach bag and towels. Instantly recognising them as the two that had left the food hall ahead of Lydia and Beetlejuice that morning, Harry tailed them at a distance, keeping within earshot.  
>He had to know precisely what situation he was getting himself into. It sounded ridiculous even to himself – that revenge could take over his mind so completely – but there was more to it than the crimes he'd committed in life. 'Beetlejuice' wasn't all that innocent. And, judging by the conversation he was overhearing, it appeared that this was in more ways that one.<p>

"W-W-What are you saying, Delia?" The blond asked his wife nervously, fiddling with the sunglasses perched on the top of his head.  
>"Oh, I don't know, Charles," She shook her head beside him, sounding troubled. "I might just be imagining things,"<p>

Harry didn't like stalking them, only for the fact that he couldn't see their expressions. As the pair began to glance around the hall he thought it was only a matter of time before they heard footsteps behind them and looked back. Seeing as they were heading to the pool anyway he changed from his casual outfit into his lifeguard uniform without another moment's hesitation.

The husband – Charles – bit his bottom lip. "M-Maybe you should s-start from the beginning, dear?"  
>"But your <em>nerves<em>, Charles–"  
>"If it's a-about Lydia then I want to hear it,"<br>Delia hesitated and took a deep breath.

By now they were approaching the elevators. Knowing he wouldn't be able to eavesdrop on them if they took one – not having strong enough 'juice' to possess anything – Black willed a pair of 'out of order' signs to hang on the elevator doors. When they reached them, the Deetzs glanced at them in passing as they walked by, but didn't say anything aloud, taking the stairs instead. Whether this had been their intention all along, Harry couldn't be sure, but he was relieved all the same.

Delia finally loosened her tongue. "Don't you think it's odd how Lydia and Beetleman are always... together?" She asked suddenly. "Always have been?"

Harry at first thought he'd misheard her before he realised Delia's use of 'Beetleman' was intentional. What was that about, exactly? And why did this strain of conversation sound so uncomfortable, as though it were unnatural for a couple to be together all the time? Unless they didn't _know_ they were a couple.

Charles shrugged his shoulders. "I… I never really noticed, Delia,"

Mrs Deetz was doing something with her hands that Harry couldn't see – fumbling anxiously, no doubt. She must have been deliberating whether or not to say something, because she finally spoke with such a heaviness that it made the atmosphere so tense it became practically tangible. "… I caught him leaving her room last night," She admitted quietly.  
>Charles turned to look at his wife, pale, and from what Harry could see of his face he looked like he would faint outright. His only otherwise discernable reaction was that of his bottom lip quivering.<p>

Their stalker quickly decided this conversation was no longer something it would be okay to be casually caught eavesdropping in on. He mustered his power into turning himself invisible, a form he could never maintain for very long, but that he hoped would at least hold until they reached the bottom of the stairwell.

"Now, he _told _me he was giving Lydia his cell phone to talk to B. J.–"

At the use of that name, Harry flinched. This conversation was getting too complicated for an outsider to comprehend off the bat. Weren't B. J. and Beetlejuice the same person? And wasn't this woman referring to Beetlejuice as 'Beetleman' as well?

"–but when I asked Lydia this morning she said she hadn't spoken to him."

Charles was stammering a response that he couldn't get out, and finally gave up, trying to take calming breaths. His wife, in the meantime, sounded guilty that she was relaying this information to him at all. She patted her husband on the shoulder, giving it an affectionate rub. "There's… something else, Charles. I found one of Mr Beetleman's old business cards this morning. I have it in print that _his _name is B. J. Beetleman but when I asked him over breakfast he said that he was–"  
>"'R-Rex'…" Charles finished weakly, voice high.<p>

Harry soon came to realise that this wasn't as complicated as it had first seemed after all. The fact was, B. J. Duce had been a chiseller, and it was clear now that Beetlejuice was guilty of the same. What were a few alter egos here and there? Especially with the living. And if they were horrified at the idea of 'Beetleman' leaving Lydia's room, then surely that meant they didn't know they were a couple.

Delia lowered her head, shifting her hold on her towel and bag in order to link arms with her husband. "I thought I was imagining it but even his relatives seem to know something we don't. I don't know what's going on here, but I don't like it,"

They were reaching the bottom of the staircase, and Harry could no longer keep himself incognito. Besides that, he couldn't contain himself any longer. He'd seen a blinding opportunity, and he had to seize it with both hands. He transformed himself, giving himself a generally more acceptable, people-friendly face (nose included) and appeared less corpse-like to boot, coughing emphatically behind them as he popped back into existence. "Uh, pardon me, ma'am. I didn't mean to eavesdrop,"

Delia shrieked, dropping all she'd been carrying and throwing her arms up in the air, almost knocking Charles over the side of the staircase in the process. Charles, too, let out a flustered cry and clung onto the very railings he'd almost sailed over. Naturally, it was Delia who calmed down first. Hand on her heart, she let out a tinkling laughter. "O-Oh, hello. Sorry, we didn't see you there. C-Can I help you?"

Harry feigned an apologetic smile. "I didn't mean to startle you, ma'am. I see you're heading for the pool; I'm the hotel lifeguard,"  
>"Oh! I see," Delia said, clasping her hands together and smiling. Just like that, she justified his sudden appearance, and flashed her husband a look, telling him without words to recover quickly.<p>

Harry fiddled with the whistle strung around his neck, hoping he appeared sheepish and genuine enough. Even so, these two looked pretty naïve. "I hope you don't mind, but I overheard what you were saying. Your daughter, she's the celebrity, right?"  
>He wasn't to know that the Deetzs had no idea about Lydia's brief singing career in the Neitherworld. Luckily for him, they understood his meaning an entirely different but plausible way. Delia laughed. "Celebrity? Oh—ahah, how sweet. She was only in a <em>magazine<em>. Are you local to Peaceful Pines?"

_Peaceful Pines? _The name escaped Harry. If they were from the Outerworld then it wasn't any town he'd heard of, unless it was a new town or one that had been renamed. It might even have been a district, for all he knew.  
>What had become clear to him, however, was that the Deetzs didn't know Lydia had been a Neitherworldian celebrity. Okay. He'd remember that. In fact, it seemed like the two of them didn't know much about their daughter at all.<p>

Harry wouldn't let himself hesitate for long, he had to latch onto their trust while he had it.  
>"Yes, ma'am." He lied. "The thing is, your daughter… she hangs around with that blond guy, am I right? Thirty-something? Penchant for pinstripes?"<p>

Charles straightened, hands still latched firmly on the stair railing. "H-H-He's our t-tour guide: Mr Beetleman." He stammered, nodding.  
>Harry nodded along with him, making his face one of gentlemanly concern. He imagined getting a damn Oscar for this. "You've gotta understand, I don't do this often, but—how old's your daughter? Twenty? Twenty-one?"<br>Delia gulped. "Nineteen. She'll be twenty soon,"

Harry took in a breath that sounded like a disapproving hiss, pursing his lips and shaking his head once. "I see. It's just that… that 'tour guide' of yours. He seems pretty cosy with her,"  
>Charles and Delia paled. This shouldn't have been anything new. Pre-vacation they would have just agreed and ignored the implications, but now too many things had been called into question in such a brief period of time. Delia cast her eyes away, twiddling her thumbs. "He's a- a friend of the family. We've known him for years, we've–"<p>

Harry stopped her there. He wouldn't let her make excuses; he needed to create a wedge between the Deetzs and 'Beetleman', and he needed that divide so that they could come over to _his _side. "I'm sorry, ma'am, but do y'really know him as well as you think you do?" He pried.  
>Charles looked like he might pass out. "D-Delia…" He stammered, looking at her. His wife, however, was slowly turning red in the face. Harry couldn't tell if Delia was about to yell or burst into tears.<br>To try and further warrant his interruption, Harry shrugged his shoulders lightly. "They were together at the pool yesterday." He explained.  
>Delia nodded. "T-That's right,"<br>Harry made a face back at her as if to say "yes, that _is_ right" and Delia's face reddened only further.

He feigned a comforting smile. "I'd just keep my eye on 'em if I were you. She's at that age, discovering herself and becoming a woman and all that. I just think it's wrong if he's taking advantage, especially if it's right under your noses."  
>The Deetzs reactions suggested that he was right on the money with that one. He wanted to smirk, but wouldn't let this good-guy façade drop.<br>Passing them on the stairs, Harry gave them a farewell nod. "Well then, see you both by the pool,"

Charles and Delia could only stare forlornly after him.

* * *

><p>It was now the end of only the second day of vacation, and Delia couldn't sleep. Eleven o'clock at night, and she was lying in bed staring straight up at the ceiling. Charles wasn't having much luck either.<p>

Mind brimming with anxieties and unanswered questions, thinking too much to be able to drift off, eventually Delia stopped pretending. She sat bolt upright. "This is no good, Charles," She said, beginning to remove her hair curlers.  
>"D-D-Delia?" Her husband whimpered, pulling the bed sheets up to his chin. He stared at her like she'd grown a second head.<p>

Swinging out of bed, Delia tucked her feet into a pair of slippers, picking up her dressing gown from where she'd folded it onto the back of a chair by the balcony. "I'm going to just… go over there,"  
>"But, dear…" Charles objected. He much preferred the idea of not-knowing then knowing and having horrible suspicions confirmed.<p>

If you'd have asked the Deetzs, they probably would have said that there was nothing explicitly _wrong _with the idea of Lydia and 'Mr Beetleman'. No, it was all the factors that went along with it. The idea that he'd seen Lydia grow up, that that might have been his intention all along, that 'B. J. Beetleman' was now involved, that Lydia had been lying to them, that the two of them were going behind their backs… _that _was what was wrong.

Delia shook her head, heading for the bedroom door. "I'm going to settle our curiosity once and for all, Charles," She said with conviction, leaving her husband trembling and whimpering in the bed behind her.

She didn't know what she expected to see, exactly, but she was confronted with her worst nightmare when she got down the hall. Sure enough, Mr Beetleman was heading towards Lydia's door.  
>Delia felt faint.<p>

"Mr Beetleman?" She said, quieter than she meant to. It didn't matter, he'd heard her all the same. Whipping around, Beetlejuice's eyes went wide. He retreated from the door faster than a bullet, swinging around in such a way that Delia half-convinced herself that he hadn't been heading for it after all. "Oh, h-h-hey, Mrs D," He greeted with a nod of the head. He was in that zany striped suit they'd increasingly been spotting him in rather than his usual handy-man outfits. "W-Walking the halls again?"  
>Delia pursed her lips. "Just heading downstairs to reception…" She excused, but didn't detail anymore than that. It wasn't her that had any explaining to do.<p>

She stared at him with eyes that were desperate for answers, but those eyes just made Beetlejuice uncomfortable. And guilty. Incredibly guilty.  
>He smoothed his hair back, a lopsided smile forming out of his lips. He couldn't think of an excuse for why he was standing there or where he was headed, he could only think of an excuse to get him out of this situation. "Right, well– I, uh, ain't feelin' too hot so, uh…" He made to turn around, but Delia didn't let him get far enough.<br>"Were you heading to Lydia's room?" She asked, the concern creeping into her voice against her will.  
>Beetlejuice's eyebrows practically flew into his hair. "Wha–? N-N-No, no, of course not! Ahahaha…" He laughed off, sidestepping away from the door for good measure.<br>"Of course not," Delia repeated, but wasn't convinced.

Beetlejuice didn't like the almost sarcastic tone to her voice. He needed to be more believable. "I'm… uh… just out for an evenin' walk. Think I've come down with somethin', went to get some meds." Staring at his girlfriend's step-mother for a little longer, trying to judge from her expression whether or not he had to convince her any further, he eventually shrugged. "Well. Uh. Yeah. So, um, catch ya later, Mrs D," He said, hoping she'd let him retreat. She did.

Delia watched him go, and found that her pleading eyes had become glaring ones that were shooting daggers at his retreating back. She kept watching him until she was satisfied that he'd headed for the stairwell. Then, gathering her courage, she rapped on the door of 213.

No response.

_Lydia's asleep, Delia. Just let her be. _She tried to tell herself, but her hand wasn't listening. Her rapping sped up, before turning to loud, rhythmic knocking on the surface of the door. Before she could hammer on it in her urgency, she heard stirring inside and footsteps padding over to the door.

_See? She was asleep. She's going to open up the door and she's going to be upset that you woke her up. She's going to–_

Delia barely recognized the purring, seductive voice that came from the other side of the door as the handle was fumbled with, and it slowly began to open. "_Well, aren't _you_ being polite, knocking on the door for a change, Mister Beet-"_ The door was now completely ajar, and Lydia was stood in the doorframe, staring at her step-mother in horror. "Mom!" She practically shrieked. Most of her porcelain-pale skin was visible, and the only garment she appeared to be wearing was a black silk negligee that clung to her body like a second skin, and left nothing to the imagination.

If Lydia was horrified, she had nothing on Delia. "What is going _on _here?" She demanded, forcefully stepping into the room.  
>Face suddenly a flaming scarlet in colour, Lydia backed up and covered herself up as best as she could by wrapping her arms around herself. "I-It's not what it looks like! I swear!" She said, and felt so childish for doing so.<p>

Delia practically slammed the door to a shut behind her. Her eyes were shining with wetness, but her anger was coming thick and fast before her concern. "Don't feed me that line, Lydia. What is going _on_ between you and Beetleman?"  
>A breath was forced from Lydia's throat that came out as a sob. "Nothing!" She lied frantically, stumbling back deeper into her room. She had to think. She had to think <em>fast<em>.

Delia shook her head and laughed, but there was no amusement in that laugh, only disappointment. "Do you think I'm an idiot, Lydia?"  
>"No!"<br>"I was your age once." She reminded her, frustration causing her face to crumple. "What about _B. J.?"  
><em>With her way-out presented to her on a silver platter, Lydia decided that this was the easiest of all the escape routes. She nodded furiously, brushing her dark hair out of her face. "T-T-That's just it! It __is __B. J.! H-He's here!"_  
><em>Delia stopped, her panicked anger and concern dissipating as quickly as it had built up. Her blue eyes widened, softening. "… Sorry?" She prompted, blinking dazedly.

Lydia, who was glad to have been rescued from the brink of tears, nodded again. "B. J.'s here," She repeated, and suddenly she found it wasn't very hard to lie - it didn't even feel like a lie at all. "He managed to ditch the volunteer work. He's downstairs, or... he _was_, anyway. I'm sorry about trying to lie to you about not getting the phone call last night but I- I didn't know how you'd take the news,"  
>Luckily for Lydia, her lies didn't sound like half-assed excuses. This all made sense to Delia, maybe because it was precisely what she had wanted to hear. Not that this scenario was one she had wanted to <em>see<em>; the sight of Lydia in a sexy negligee was totally unwelcome. But… she was nineteen, a woman, and she was in a relationship. It was only healthy, she supposed.

All the fight draining out of her, Delia relaxed. "_When_ were you going to tell us about this, young lady?" She asked softly.  
>Lydia felt so guilty that it pained her.<br>_I hate lying to you, Delia. I really do. _She thought, bowing her head.

"He only just got here, Mom. We thought it was pretty late to bother you with…"

There was a knocking at the door that interrupted them, and a muffled, familiar male voice called Lydia's name. It was Beetlejuice, and somehow he'd overheard what was going on. Now here he was, playing along as B. J. Beetleman.

Lydia found a dressing gown out of the wardrobe quickly, cheeks flushed.  
>"He didn't know about the, uh- choice of nightwear, mother." She swore, hoping to make the situation a bit less uncomfortable, even if it meant tarnishing how Delia would see her from now on. "Really. It's all me."<br>Delia numbly inclined her head. Like she said, she'd been there, done that, got the t-shirt at that age. As soon as Lydia was decent she opened up the hotel-room door to find an apologetic looking 'B. J. Beetleman' standing there, smiling weakly.

Beetlejuice had never admitted this to Lydia, but this form had been pretty much how he'd looked as a teenager and young twenty-something when he'd been alive anyway – molded by his over-bearing mother, who wanted to make sure he looked presentable and courteous at all times.  
>B. J.'s blond hair was short, long fringe slicked to one side, and he was wearing a white shirt, black suspenders, plus a matching tie and trousers. Delia hadn't seen a young man of B. J.'s 'age' in suspenders for years, but she didn't even bother calling this into question, she was too relieved that he was <em>here<em>.  
>"B. J.," She greeted, breathing out heavily. "What a nice surprise,"<p>

Beetlejuice, obviously, didn't seem startled by Delia opening up the door. "Evening, Mrs Deetz,"  
>Delia nodded back into the room, over in her step-daughter's direction. "Lydia was just going to bed,"<br>'B. J.' nodded, clasping his hands behind his back, and smoothed the anxiety out of his face. "Well, it is getting late. I just came up to say goodnight,"

Lydia then came over to the door, still red in the face, and wrapped her nightgown tighter around herself. She could hardly bear to look at Beetlejuice in case her face betrayed her but when she did she managed to smile gratefully. "Night, B. J.," She breathed.  
>Delia patted Lydia on the shoulder before stepping out of the room. "Are you staying at the hotel tonight, B. J.?" She asked as she brushed by him, giving the two of them a little space.<p>

"O-Oh, uh…" Beetlejuice wondered what the best answer would be, wanting to keep the peace. "Only tonight. B-Be around for tomorrow. I don't want to ruin your vacation. I've got—I mean, Dad's, uh, got a bad—head. _Luckily_ I managed to get out of volunteerin' so I could come up here and, y'know, see you folks." His face hurt from how much he was smiling.

Delia let out a breath of relief, and sagged a little with it. She looked tired, cupping her forehead in her hand, but she nodded anyway. "Yes… Yes, your father _did _say he wasn't feeling well,"  
>"He just caught a bug." B. J. clarified.<br>Lydia looked away, her lips perking up into a smile. "I'm sure he did…"  
>Beetlejuice tried not to smile himself. "But I'll be sharin' his room for tonight. Keep an eye on 'im,"<p>

Delia nodded in understanding and offered them both a smile, wrapping her arms around herself. "I see." She said. "Well, it's nice to see you, B. J."  
>The disguised ghost nodded, deciding it was time to get out, and quick. "You too, ma'am. G'night, Mrs Deetz. Lyds,"<br>He retreated from the door, but Delia decided to leave with him, offering Lydia an apologetic smile as she went. The two of them soon parted ways at a fork in the corridor.

Dazed, Lydia closed her hotel room door. Not a second after she'd done so, Beetlejuice appeared behind her, slumping to the floor and letting out a weighty sigh of relief. "Talk about a close shave…" He breathed. He regretted the choice of words instantly, as an electric razor suddenly appeared into existence beside his head and narrowly missed clipping his ear clean off. His eyes went wide, and he let out a shriek as he leapt up to his feet and dashed away from the mad razor that proceeded to chase him around the room. "EYAGHHH!"

Used to such manic displays, Lydia collapsed back onto the bed, still shocked from the whole scenario. "… I have no desire to ever go through that again." She muttered a tad melodramatically, arms out either side of her head.  
>After realising that he could just make the razor disappear, Beetlejuice snapped his fingers and dispelled it, before pouting a little, looking down at her. "Why didn't'cha just let the truth come out, babes?"<p>

Lydia stared at him, incredulous. "Are you kidding me? We would have been dead meat!"  
>"Would've been a shorter trip for me than for you."<br>"Beej, this is serious." Lydia whined, draping an arm over her face. "I'll… I'll tell them the truth. It just has to be the right time."  
>"When <em>is <em>the right time, babes?" Beetlejuice frowned, folding his arms. "How many more skeletons do you want in your—_my_ closet, anyways? They're adding up now, Lyds."  
>"Don't remind me." Lydia moaned into her forearm, before falling still and letting out a sigh. "… This was a bad idea."<p>

Beetlejuice knew what she meant. She meant the vacation, she meant about sharing rooms. She didn't mean _them_.  
>He sat down next to her on the bed, smiling. "Nah, it wasn't." He scolded her.<br>At this Lydia smiled. No, it wasn't. Or at least, it didn't have to be. They could still make it work.  
>Pulling him down to lie next to her, she curled up beside him, resting her head on his chest. "Beej?"<br>"Mrm?"  
>Drawing circles on his stomach, she looked up at him, expression gently probing. "You said you were going to tell me. About your nightmare."<p>

The ghost blinked, but realised this subject was something he couldn't avoid any longer. He'd bluffed his way out of it too many times before. He shouldn't have been afraid to tell Lydia anything, he'd always struggled to keep things from her.  
>"Oh. Right,"<br>Trying to decide how much he was going to tell her before he started, he cupped the back of her head with his hand, and used his other to pull her closer to him, draping one of her slender legs over his. "It was just a flashback, babes." He explained honestly.

Lydia nosed his torso, hands working at the the knot of his tie. "To when?"  
>"Oh, y'know… my breather days,"<br>"They were the stuff of nightmares?" She pressed, sceptical.  
>"Some of 'em." Beetlejuice admitted, helping her slip the tie out from around his collar before unbuttoning his shirt ready for bed. After wrestling out of it, along with his suit jacket, he tucked back up beside her, and scooted them both back further along the bed so that they were resting in the pillows.<p>

He knew that Lydia wasn't just going to leave the subject there, and he didn't expect her to. As he ran his red-tipped fingers through her hair, Lydia rested her cheek on his cold skin. She loved the feel of it, soothing, refreshing, like the cold side of a pillow. It was a strange way to look at it, but in their case it certainly paid to have unique taste.  
>"… I don't know much about who you were, Beetlejuice." Lydia eventually said softly.<p>

Beetlejuice just shrugged, but he smiled all the same. "I'm not that person anymore, babes. Well, I _am_, but… I don't wanna remember that person. I didn't have anythin' worth livin' or dyin' for."  
>"You have me," Lydia told him, pressing her lips to his chest in a brief kiss.<br>"_Now_ I do." Beetlejuice agreed, and both of them smiled.

After a comfortable period of silence, Lydia let out a yawn. "You'll tell me more later, right?" She said around it, barely intelligibly.  
>Beetlejuice blinked. "What's more to tell?"<br>"Well…" Lydia smiled tactfully, ceasing her actions of trying to get cosy beside him after settling into a position she was happy to sleep in. "… if it were all a flashback then you- wouldn't have been calling my name- in your sleep…"

At these astute powers of deduction, Beetlejuice's eyebrows rose slightly. "Lyds–" He began, glancing down at her, but she was already falling sound asleep. Scratching his forehead in silent wonder, he led back and stared at the painted ceiling. Lydia had a curious ability of being able to fall asleep at any given moment, something that Beetlejuice was moderately struggling with lately. It wasn't as though he needed sleep, but it was a ritual that he was more than happy not to be separated from. Glancing down at her once more, he shook his head and smiled. _… How in the Neitherworld does she do that?_

* * *

><p>The reception desk wasn't well-staffed during the night shift. Tonight they'd penciled in for the desk to be covered by a teenaged ghoul who preferred spending his time in the hotel games room. It didn't take Harry all of five seconds to convince the kid to go and waste some time on some arcade games while respectable lifeguard 'Tate' took over and held down the fort. As soon as he was behind the counter, he rummaged madly through files and mashed the buttons of a computer keyboard, a computer he had no idea how to use. They were steadily becoming as commonplace in the Neitherworld as they were in the Outerworld, but Harry, who'd been locked away for most of his afterlife, hadn't had a chance to acclimatise to them.<p>

When he found the pile of confidential paperwork on the guests that were transferred from the Hotel du Yell, it took him a further few minutes to locate the file on the Deetzs, and who had filled out all their details.  
>There. 'Beetlejuice'. And... that was it, no surname, just 'Beetlejuice'. Oh, and what was this? His address.<p>

Harry couldn't believe how easy it was; all these years he'd pictured getting his hands on B. J. Duce's scrawny little neck and wringing it until his eyes burst from his sockets, and now he could, but he could do it on his own terms, in his own time. He had his _address_.  
>He didn't honestly think B. J. was smart enough to use a false one, and luckily for Harry, he hadn't.<p>

_The Roadhouse, The Ridge, Lost Souls Highway.  
><em>Scrawling the information down on a crumpled piece of paper, Harry stuffed it in his pocket, put all the paperwork back where he'd found it and waited for the teenager to get back from the games room.

He had more work to do.

* * *

><p>Beetlejuice and the Deetzs' third day of vacation was spent doing all the things that Lydia and Beetlejuice had thus far planned to avoid: a family breakfast, lunch and dinner at the Gagalot, as well as family-orientated leisure activities such as dance classes, cycling, orienteering and crazy golf (much as B. J. and Lydia would normally enjoy the latter.) The only up-side to this mind-numbingly dull day was that they had managed to avoid Beetlejuice's relatives for the entirety of it, though this was mostly due to the fact that Beetlejuice's guise was B. J. Beetleman and not his 'sick and bedridden' father, who was 'unable to leave his hotel room'.<p>

After dinner, 'B. J.' announced that he had to head back for volunteer work in the morning and the Deetzs later waved him off in the direction of the jetty. Only Lydia knew that as soon as he'd reached the ferry, much as he would have loved to have kept going and never looked back, Beetlejuice 'juiced himself back to their bedroom, and stayed until Lydia retired back to it that evening.

By the time Lydia returned to him, fed up after such a boring day, even Beetlejuice looked miserable.  
>"This is gettin' ridiculous, babes," He sighed, hovering with his legs folded in mid air.<br>"I told you," Lydia said, sitting down at the vanity to pry her curling hair out of its ponytail. After she was done and was now instead perched on the end of the bed, Beetlejuice floated down opposite her, his face wrinkled with an expression Lydia couldn't place. Indecision? Regret? She didn't think even he knew.  
>"I thought this vacation was gonna be a piece o' cake. Yer parents are usually so <em>easy<em>,"

"I know," Lydia looked down at her lap, brow furrowed, her face fallen. "I feel so... guilty, B. J.. I mean, this is our last family vacation together and… here we are, lying to them, sneaking around. This isn't the way I'd want to remember it,"  
>Beetlejuice frowned. She had a point. "D'ya think we should go home?"<br>"I don't know…" Head propped up in her hands, Lydia sighed. "We went about this all wrong. _I _went about this all wrong. You were right, Beetlejuice. We should never have let it get this bad, we should have been honest right from the start,"

"… I said all that?"  
>"Not in as many words," Lydia closed her eyes. "I just don't see a way out of this. If I tell my parents the truth they'll be shocked. They might not want us to see each other again,"<br>"Yeah, but… babes, yer a grown woman now."  
>"I know that, and I know they can't realistically stop me from seeing you, but… I just don't want to ruin what I have with them, Beetlejuice. Before you and I met, we weren't a family, but now we <em>are<em> and I don't want to lose that. I don't want to go back to how things were,"

Beetlejuice dropped down to his feet, looking all the more frustrated. "So what are you suggestin', Lyds? That we never tell 'em?"  
>"No… No, I'm not saying that. I just need to think about it," Lydia's eyes became faraway as she did just that, retreating into her thoughts. This whole thing was going to require some planning, <em>and<em> some mental preparation.

Beetlejuice scratched the back of his neck, his pointed nose wrinkling. "Let's just hope they aren't mad enough to want me exorcised," He chuckled, but he sounded anxious even to his own ears.  
>Lydia's head jerked up, her lips parted in horror. "Don't even joke about that!" She reprimanded, but she didn't sound cross, only alarmed. "I couldn't bear to lose you! Not like that, not for good. It would <em>kill<em> me."

"Y'don't have to get all soppy on me, Lyds. I'm not goin' anywhere," Beetlejuice smiled, extending a hand. She took it without hesitation, and Lydia let him tug her up into his arms, his hands snaking around her as he pulled her close to him. Her head slot in perfectly between the juncture of his neck and shoulder, and Lydia rested it there for a moment, suppressing a laugh. "_Now_ who's being soppy?" She teased.  
>"I don't even care if it's me. I'm not lettin' ya go,"<br>"Good,"

Lydia paused, the fingers of one hand absently playing with the lapels of his suit jacket. Talking about never letting go, she bit her bottom lip in thought. "Will you still love me when I'm all grey and wrinkly, B. J.?"  
>"Yep," He replied immediately.<br>Lydia exhaled through her nose, the sound similar to a single laugh. "Liar,"  
>"Who's lyin'? I can be yer toy boy, and then <em>you <em>can feel like the pervy older one for a change,"  
>Now she really did laugh, pulling back enough to look at him with furrowed brows. "Thanks a lot, Beetlejuice,"<br>He winked back at her, grinning from ear to ear. "Any time, babes,"

They stayed like that for a good few minutes, Lydia still running her hands over the fabric of his suit as her fingers traced columns upon columns of stripes. When she spoke next, her voice was pitched low, and she spoke so quietly that Beetlejuice wondered if she'd actually _wanted_ him to hear her.  
>"You know I have to die to be with you some time, right?" She whispered.<br>Beetlejuice's face drained of colour.

He didn't like this line of conversation, it reminded him far too much of his nightmare. For a passing moment all he could see was Black's cruel eyes narrowed above a taunting smile.  
><em>'If she loves you, she's going to off herself to be with you anyway...'<em>

Lydia felt him tense up in her arms, and hazarded a glance up at him, wondering if she'd said the wrong thing.  
>Beetlejuice, however, could only look infinitely sad. His face seemed to line with age suddenly, eyes becoming distant. "Yeah," He said quietly.<br>Lydia's hand sought out his where one rested on her waist, and squeezed it affectionately. "Will you let it be on my terms?" She asked, tipping her head on one side.

Beetlejuice nodded, snapping out of his reverie, and pushed his nose to hers firmly. "If y'don't do anything _stoopid_," He said, only half-teasing.  
>Lydia shook her head. "I'm not a depressed pre-teen anymore, Beetlejuice. I have a life. I want you in it. I just… want an afterlife with you in it too, and not with me following you around in a walking frame, okay?"<br>Beetlejuice wanted to make a crack about retiree benefits and a disabled sticker for Doomie, but for once in his afterlife he was tired of making a joke out of everything. He held Lydia a little tighter, letting out a breath through his nose. "Okay, babes,"

Wanting to soothe him out of whatever dark thoughts he'd been about to drift into, Lydia nuzzled his upper half. "I love you," She said into his shirt. She swore for a moment that she heard his heart thud in response.  
>"I love ya too, Lyds," He replied, so honestly that Lydia almost worried for him. Almost. "Me an' you, we're gonna have the whole shebang, babes. Get hitched, move ya into the Roadhouse, adopt a couple o' sprogs…"<br>"That sounds perfect," She hummed, her face brightening. Then Lydia looked up. "Beetlejuice,"  
>"Huh?"<br>"This romantic stuff really doesn't suit you, but it's irresistibly cute,"

Beetlejuice's mouth parted in such surprise that he almost let out a startled laugh. He narrowed his eyes, smirking at her. "Now yer just patronising me,"  
>"No," Lydia disagreed in a velvety voice, before she began patting him on the top of his head. "<em>Now<em> I'm patronising you,"  
>Her ghostly lover let out a sound similar to a growl, brows slanting downwards mischievously. Removing his hands from her, Beetlejuice pointed at the four-poster with gusto. "That's it. Get up on that bed, woman,"<br>Lydia stuck out her tongue, dancing out of his clutches. "Make me,"

"Want it the hard way, huh, Lyds? You can have it the hard way,"  
>"Talking dirty to me now, Beej?" Lydia teased, before suddenly finding herself scooped up into his arms, bridal-style. Her eyes went wide and she let out a shriek. "Wait—hold on! No, put me down! <em>Beetlejuice<em>!"

"Wha-aaat?" He replied innocently, though Lydia looked up to see he'd 'juiced a pair of small, red horns onto the crown of his head, not to mention that there was now an arrow-head tail whipping back and forth behind him. He leaned in close, grinning lecherously. "Ya _told_ me to make ya,"

"But I'm perfectly capable of walking!" Lydia practically screamed with laughter, her face red and creasing up.  
>Too late. He'd tossed her onto the bed, and was soon following after her.<br>"You asked for it, babes. No more mister nice guy," Beetlejuice cooed down at her playfully.  
>"Who are you kidding? You never were," She smiled, wrapping her arms around his neck. "And I wouldn't have you any other way,"<p>

"Y'sure about that?" He teased, suddenly 'shifting into multiple forms above her. First into a version of himself that had shed a good many pounds with straighter teeth, then a too-pretty version that, frankly, hurt to look at, then 'B. J. Beetleman', and then countless other random looks, each one more ridiculous than the last, each trying to be more 'handsome' than his usual self. None were as attractive.

Lydia was laughing too hard, and the laughter was good, because Beetlejuice hadn't wanted it to be called into serious question. "What did I say about not beetlejuicing me in the bedroom?" She cried, playfully hitting him. "Now cut that out! I want _my _Beetlejuice back. No substitutes,"  
>Reverting to normal, Beetlejuice grinned happily down at her. Before he could say anything however, Lydia pointed a finger up at him, narrowing her deep brown eyes. "Now, sit back. I have to give you something," She commanded, smiling.<p>

Beetlejuice blinked, brows furrowing, but his grin only widened. He did as he was told, but when he sat back away from her Lydia shook her head and motioned to the pillows. Again, he obeyed, and shimmied to rest with his back to the bed cushions.  
>Not a moment later Lydia sat up too, but retreated someways back down the bed before parting his legs enough to sit between them.<p>

"What is it, babes?" Beetlejuice asked, trying not to sound too eager. Then a thought struck him: he hadn't missed an important date, had he? Was it an anniversary of some kind? What sort of present could she be-?

Feeling her hands at his suit trousers, Beetlejuice's cheeks burned in realisation.

_Oh. _

It wasn't a present.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** I thought we needed some fluffy, partially-smutty BJxLyds to get through the drama they've just been through, and to get through what is just about to unfold. That's all I have to say on the matter.


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N:** I'm truly sorry I was so slow to update this, I am **not **quitting my fanfiction, I just have to manage my time a bit better. I'd gotten to the point where I thought: _YES! Not only am I halfway through _Dead and Buried_ but I'm halfway through my planned fanfiction workload!_ And, on top of that, I opened up two Beetlejuice roleplay accounts over on Tumblr, which have eaten up a lot of my free time.

If you're on Tumblr, I'm **the-ghost-with-the-most** (cartoon!Beetlejuice – can have a lot of crack/OOC stuff on there, ongoing roleplay with cartoon!Lydia and with multiple movie!Betelgeuses) and **one-big-darkroom** (movie!older-Lydia – bit more serious and angsty with an ongoing roleplay with movie!Betelgeuse). I'd appreciate any followers, but just please understand that I can only be stretched so far, so fanfic updates _may _be further between.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Eleven<strong>

A slip of paper was resting on the surface of a sturdy, oak desk in the staff quarters of the Last Resort's new tower block hotel. It was worn, dog-eared and barely readable in places, but now Harry gazed at it eagerly – the final piece to his puzzle. He began to laugh. The paper was of yet another diagram, like the ones lining his wall, of the same device he'd been poring over for all these years. But this diagram? This one taught him how to _activate _it. The EXO.  
>Only one remained in the whole of the Neitherworld now. Harry had always known that somewhere in his damned Handbook, or some shred of evidence left behind would hand him the key to unlocking the device. And now here it was, the reactivation process. Sat right before his eyes.<p>

The EXO had been an exorcism machine built by ghouls to _kill_ ghouls. It had been both a highly classified and popular capital punishment method for a decade in the early half of this century before being decommissioned and replaced with 'exile to Saturn'. Stepping into the machine sent the hapless victim immediately to the Lost Souls Room for _all_ eternity. No more life after death. No more anything.

The second-from-final piece to his puzzle was an article he had found concerning how the EXO had been – _modified_. According to a newspaper clipping he'd found, the EXO had been used to eliminate a female ghost and her human lover after they had committed heinous crimes in a bloody rampage in both the Outerworld and Neitherworld alike. For this the EXO was adapted to the task, and thus the one publicised piece on its existence came to be. There was also no other record of the Neitherworld stepping in to exact justice on behalf of the Outerworld, apart from the infamous case of 'Jack the Ripper'. What was important was that the EXO was compatible with both humans _and_ ghosts… and now Harry knew exactly where it was, and exactly how to make it work.

He leant back in his chair, cupping his face in his hands, smirking. Oh, but he hadn't wanted to hurt the girl at first, but this way B. J. and his little girlfriend would be together forever. _Separate_, yes_ – _there was no way for souls within The Room to communicate – but _together_. Like Romeo and Juliet. How delightfully tragic.

Harry was beyond caring.  
>He just wanted Duce to suffer.<p>

* * *

><p>The rest of the vacation passed by faster than Lydia could process; too fast for her to recall exactly how they occupied most of their time. In a way, it proved to be a good thing, her parents were no longer suspicious and left her and Beetlejuice alone for the most part, <em>and<em> they managed to avoid Sid and Irma because the elderly pair hadn't extended their vacation in line with theirs. They'd had to return home mid-week; even Lydia supposed that the pair didn't stay at the resort _all _the time.

Maybe because they'd gotten away with it, and maybe because things had gone their way, but on the final day of the trip Beetlejuice and Lydia weren't as cautious as they had been.

"Where did this vacation _go_?" Lydia said, exasperated, as she watched their clothes sail across the room and fold themselves into their suitcases.  
>"Time flies, babes," Beetlejuice replied before letting out a yelp and ducking as the bedside alarm clock flung itself towards the wall behind him.<br>Time _had _passed in a blur, as Lydia had tried to spend most of the remaining week with her parents, playing her part in the 'last family getaway' scenario. After all, she and Beetlejuice would have next weekend together with the house to themselves.

Their suitcases closed with a snap and, after checking the room, satisfied they had everything, Lydia nodded in Beetlejuice's direction. In return, he clapped his hands together and the hotel room reverted back to its original, bland décor. Lydia exhaled heavily, sad to see it go.  
>Beetlejuice, however, was over-eager. "Check out ti-i-ime!" He cried, before vanishing before her eyes. Not two minutes later he'd reappeared, wrapping his hand around her wrist.<br>Lydia raised her eyebrows. "That was fast,"  
>"Come on, babes. We already said we're meetin' your folks at the ferry. Let's get this show on the road!"<br>"But–"  
>When Lydia blinked next they were standing on the rickety wooden jetty, waiting for the arrival of the next ferry.<p>

Slightly appalled, she made to pull her hand away. "Beetlejuice, what's the hurry?" She frowned as he let go of her wrist.  
>He seemed to be surprised by her lack of understanding. He'd put up with an entire week in this dump all for her, and now she was pressing him as to why he didn't want to stay? <em>Here? <em>His brows knotted together in confusion. "Uh, babes, unless you forgot, this is the place where humour comes to die,"

Lydia's face smoothed out with understanding. Yes, she had forgotten how much this place bothered him. Smiling apologetically, she slipped her hands around the back of his neck. "And you put up with it. For me,"  
>"Don't rub it in," Beetlejuice said, smiling to show he was joking, before leaning in close. A hand snaking around to the small of her back, he raised a dark eyebrow cheekily. "So... what are we up to when we're back home, Lyds?"<br>She didn't rise to meet his flirtation, not verbally at least. Her lips, however, quirked up just as her eyes narrowed, teasing him. "_I _have to study. I've got a big photography assignment to work on, remember? One I've been putting off for long enough,"  
>"Are you callin' me a distr<em>act<em>ion?"  
>She curled her fingers around his tie and pulled him into a quick kiss. Then, against his lips, "Yes."<p>

Beetlejuice smiled, withdrawing from her slightly. "Guess I'd better find a way to entertain myself till the weekend,"  
>"Shouldn't be too hard for the Ghost with the Most," She answered playfully.<br>Lost in each other, they failed to recall that they were waiting on her parents to appear at any moment, which _almost _proved to be a terrible mistake.

* * *

><p>Having accompanied the two Deetzs most of the way to the jetty, the hotel lifeguard lowered their suitcases down as they rounded a hedged corner. Harry smiled a wonderfully constructed PR smile and shook Charles' hand rigorously. "Glad you had a nice time with us, folks," He said with false enthusiasm.<br>"S-S-Sure did," Charles stammered, struggling to smile in his dazed confusion.  
>Delia nodded too. "We had a wonderful time, Mr Tate," She half-giggled.<p>

Just about to continue the walk on towards the farewell point of the hotel grounds, the trio heard laughing – one female, one male, and both familiar. Charles and Delia went to investigate. Up ahead, 'Mr Beetleman''s arms were coiled around Lydia's waist. He held her dipped backwards, leaning close - intimately close – whilst Lydia's eyes were half-lidded, her hand moving up to his hair from its place on his shoulder.

Harry vanished behind the Deetzs' backs just as Beetlejuice and Lydia had noticed their arrival at the peripheral of their vision. Wheeling back and pulling Lydia upright, Beetlejuice let out a false laugh. "T-Told ya to watch where ya step, kid. This platform's kinda wet." He excused, trying hard not to stammer. He hoped the Deetzs' fell for it.  
>Smoothing out her face and releasing a breath she hadn't realised she'd been holding, Lydia played along, brushing herself down shakily. "Thank you, Mr Beetleman."<br>"Yer ankle okay?"  
>"Yeah… I didn't twist it, you caught me just in time,"<p>

Luckily for them both, the Deetzs had practically blinked and their precarious pose had vanished, whilst their uprising panic dissipated as suddenly as it had been stirred. Lydia had tripped, and Beetleman had caught her. Nothing more.  
>Delia turned to say goodbye to the lifeguard that had followed them, but was puzzled to find he wasn't there at all. He'd moved away fast, and without so much as a proper goodbye. Charles, however, didn't seem to notice. He stepped forward. "Slipped, pumpkin?"<br>"Yeah," Lydia lied, nodding. "N-Not wearing shoes with enough grip," She raised a foot, displaying her black ballet pumps and their smooth, flat underside.

Having narrowly missed another confrontation however, Beetlejuice and Lydia henceforth stayed as far apart as they could to avoid attracting the Deetzs' unnecessary attention. The four of them piled onto the next ferry as soon as it arrived, silent, expressions neutral, and as far as any of them were concerned, the green coupe that awaited them on the other side of the bank couldn't take them home fast enough.

* * *

><p>Eventually, Doomie pulled up the Deetz's driveway, engine still thrumming excitedly after having been reunited with his 'mom' and 'dad'.<br>Still wearing his tour-guide Beetleman guise, Beetlejuice nodded at the Deetzs in farewell as he dropped them off. Charles was the first out, followed by Delia and then by a reluctant Lydia.  
>Reclining in the driver's seat, Beetlejuice raised his sunglasses, flashing the family a very toothy grin. "Well folks, what'd I tell ya? Was that great or whut?"<p>

A brief window of hesistant silence ensued before Charles' lips quirked into a nervous, wry smile. Delia, however, looked pained. "It- It was." She finally said for all of them. As the other two began heading up towards the house - Lydia offering a glance back as she went - Delia placed her hands on the driver's side of the car, biting the inside of her lip. "Mr Beetleman..." She began, unsure of how to phrase this. "I'm really sorry if there were any—_misunderstandings – _while we were away," She said delicately. She meant it too, even though she still didn't know what to think about him telling her his first name was Rex instead of B. J..

Not allowing himself to be taken aback by the apology, but thankful for it nonetheless, the ghost grinned back. "No sweat, Mrs D." He turned the key in the ignition, offering her a wink. "Catch ya later,"

Lydia watched as Beetlejuice backed out of the drive and sped off towards town, out of sight.  
>When her parents mounted the steps up towards the house, she muttered the three B-words under her breath to send her boyfriend home. She <em>felt<em> the severed connection rather than witnessed him disappearing, and the void that filled her whenever they were apart reappeared, yawning and clawing.  
>With a sigh, Lydia turned back to face the porch, tugging her suitcase after her. There was unpacking to be done.<p>

* * *

><p>Eventually, after having completely emptied her suitcase, Lydia didn't waste much time relaxing. She brushed her hair out of her face and plaited it, before beginning the task of withdrawing all her paperwork ready for the assignment she'd be tackling in the morning.<br>It was good to be home. No more having to worry if the tourists walking by would recognise her as a former Neitherworldian popstar, or worrying whether her parents would work out that she and Mr Beetleman were having a fling or that they were vacationing in the land of the dead. No, it was all behind her now. She could settle back into her old routine.

_Old routine. At home, trying to focus, but still letting myself get distracted by Beetlejuice... _She thought with a smile. Lydia took a breath, mentally reprimanding herself as though talking to a child. _**But**. I have willpower. I will _not_ call him, not yet anyway. _But much as she tried to tell herself not to call him yet - wanting to let him settle back at home just as she had - the urge eventually proved too strong to resist.

Sat at her vanity, eyeing the uncomfortable amount of assignment-paperwork beneath her, Lydia breathed out, and with it, chanted his name. "Beetlejuice... Beetlejuice... Beetlejuice..." She called, closing her eyes and waiting for the tickle of his breath on her neck. _Hey, baby. Can't keep away?  
><em>When it didn't come - when he didn't appear - Lydia frowned. She looked up, expecting him to be sitting there in her mirror, but she only caught herself staring back. She waited a good few minutes more before standing up. Stepping over to her bedroom windows, about to open them up to step out onto her balcony, she caught sight of a certain pinstriped ghost lying obnoxiously on top of the lawn table in the garden. Lydia couldn't help but smile. She went down to meet him.

"I wondered where you'd gotten to," She greeted as she crossed the yard.  
>Beetlejuice grinned back at her, flashing all of his crooked green teeth as he hopped down from the table. "Can't keep me away, babes. You all unpacked?"<br>"Yep." She nodded, pulling him into a quick embrace. "Thank you for the vacation, B. J.,"  
>Numbly holding her slight form to him, the ghost cocked an eyebrow. "... Even though it had its ups and downs?" He prompted hesitantly.<p>

A laugh escaped from Lydia's throat, and she found herself staring at him with all the affection she felt for him at that instant. She ran a hand through his dry blond hair, nodding. "I wouldn't change a minute of it," She confessed, voice soft.  
>Beetlejuice's cheeks managed to pink slightly at the feel of her fingers working through his hair, an action so simple but still one he always wanted to pinch himself during. "Really?"<p>

"I mean it," Lydia pressed, before pulling back slightly, her hands slipping under his arms as she clutched at him. She leant back, enough to give him a Look. "But we have to talk." She said delicately, "To my parents, that is,"  
>To say Beetlejuice had been dreading this - even though <em>he<em> was the one who was now insisting it would make things easier - was an understatement. He groaned, a hand coming up to scratch his brow as he winced. Much as they both knew this was necessary, they also knew it was going to be painful. "I'm not good with- with 'honesty,' Lyds," He mumbled.

Lydia's smile was lopsided, almost a grimace. "I know," He was getting better, though; he didn't struggle so much with the 'L' word anymore, for one. "But we've had so many near-misses. I just want to clear the air,"  
>Beetlejuice couldn't help but picture her parents chasing him out of the house and into the woods with flaming torches and pitchforks, hell, maybe even a shotgun. Holding her tighter, almost protectively, he was reluctant when he spoke next. "What was yer idea?" He prompted, tipping his forehead to hers.<p>

Lydia went to press her brow back to his, enjoying the intimacy of their embrace. These past few months they'd become so close in a relationship sense that they could hardly remember what it had been like _before_ the intimacy. How had they been able to stand being so close and yet so far apart all those years?  
>"Well–" She begun, but didn't get far enough. She heard a twig snap underfoot a few feet to their right, and her attention was immediately drawn.<p>

"_Lydia_-?"  
>The two of them both flinched at the male voice, both struggling to place it for a moment. Beetlejuice vanished. As Lydia whirled around, she waited for the boy to clamber through whatever overgrown short-cut he'd decided to take, before she registered the sight of a darkly-tanned guy a couple of years younger than she, with a wave of chesnut brown hair and Hispanic dark eyes.<br>"Ramon!" She greeted her neighbour, waving.

Despite Beetlejuice's brief influence in Ramon's pre-teen adolescence he'd grown up to be... _normal_. A heartthrob, but _normal. _He was seventeen, a jock, and his hair had gotten shorter and shorter as the years had gone by. Even though he and Lydia now had very little in common, and she rarely saw him these days, she considered him a friend. He was the type that never spoke bad about anyone, no matter what crowd he ran with, and was always pleasant to her, _especially _in front of those that weren't.

Hands in his pockets, Ramon nodded in acknowledgement. "What's up?" He greeted, sidestepping out of the bushes he'd pushed his way through up the hill.  
>"Oh. Nothing..." Lydia smiled. "Just got back from vacation,"<p>

Ramon, again, nodded, toeing the ground with his sneakers. He obviously had a point to coming up to see her, but he was trying his best to make small talk in the meantime. "Yeah- Yeah, I thought your house was pretty quiet." He said, before glancing around, raising a brow. "Uh, were you talking to Mr Beetleman? I thought I–"  
>Unable to bear the thought of having almost been caught out again, Lydia shook her head vehemently. "Me? No, no," She nervously laughed off, tossing her plait off of her shoulders to stop herself from fiddling with it. She didn't realise that cutting Ramon off before he could finish stamped the word 'GUILTY' right across her forehead.<p>

Ramon's brows furrowed. "O... kay,"

_Change the subject, Lydia! _Her mind snapped. She approached him, clasping her hands before her. "So... what have you been up to, lately?"  
>Her neighbour's lip quirked up, and with it Lydia felt an ominous sinking feeling. <em>Oh God, he knows I'm dodging...<br>_Ramon opened his mouth, about to play along, but then thought better of it, his eyes glittering."Lydia, I've been your neighbor for the past six years. It's a small town. I don't know how your folks don't know, but don't push me out, okay?"  
>His words knocked Lydia for six. She recoiled slightly, but tried to recover, managing what she hoped looked like a bewildered smile. "I- I'm not pushing you out. What're you talking abou–"<br>Tiredly, Ramon shook his head, disappointed that she was avoiding the truth. Disappointed that she couldn't trust him. "I _know_ he's a ghost, Lydia," He said patiently.  
>"–t." Having only just managed to finish her previous sentence, Lydia's pupils retracted in horror. She stopped, a cold chill washing over her. "... <em>what did you say<em>?"

"I know he's a ghost." Ramon repeated, folding his arms. "I also _think _I know he's your boyfriend. You kinda pick these things up living next door to a haunted house."  
>Lydia could only stare at him blankly in complete and utter shock.<br>But they'd been _careful_, hadn't they? How could Ramon know? Had he been spying on them, or was it just that he wasn't as naive or as quick to justify things as her parents?

It was clear Ramon was waiting for a further reaction from her, and Lydia's suspicions were only confirmed when he cleared his throat expectantly. "So. Spill,"  
>She finally found her words. "You knew <em>all this time<em>?" She cried.  
>Now he offered her an apologetic smile, nodding in awkward confirmation. "Yeah... I'm sorry. I just, thought it would be better if I kept quiet about it."<p>

Hesitant, Lydia couldn't help but narrow her eyes a little in suspicion. "Then why are you coming out with it now?"  
>"Because we're friends. Friends shouldn't keep things from each other. A-And besides. I… I came to ask you a question." He was toeing this one spot of ground so much that Lydia wondered if he was damaging the lawn. He even seemed to be sweating a little uncomfortably.<p>

Clutching her forehead in her hand, still reeling, Lydia managed to nod. "Uh... sure. Go ahead,"  
>Ramon hesitated. It seemed he didn't know where to begin. "You're friends with… with Clare Brewster, right?" He asked carefully.<br>It took a moment for his words to register, but when they did Lydia snorted derisively before bursting out into fits of laughter. Her neighbour winced, hurt colouring his eyes, and as soon as his reaction became obvious to her she composed herself. "S-S-Sorry, Ramon, it's just—" Lydia swallowed, and with it stifled her laugh completely. "-you're a bit wide off the mark. We're not friends,"  
>Some kind of light went out of Ramon's eyes, his shoulders sagging as hope left him along with a heavy breath. "Oh..."<p>

Brushing herself down and looking up at her neighbour curiously, Lydia tried to sound polite. Truth was, however, she was more than a little curious. It had been a bit of an odd question (or rather, presumption) to say the least."Why do you ask?"  
>Nervous laughter fell out of Ramon's mouth before he could help himself. He straightened up, scratching the back of his neck. "Oh, no reason…" He bluffed, eyes darting to and fro as he struggled to come up with a new line of conversation. Lydia wouldn't let him get far enough. "What's up?" She asked as she raised an eyebrow. "It's hardly something you'd ask out of the blue. 'Friends shouldn't keep things from each other', remember?<em>"<em>

Ramon let out a breath like a hiss at having his own words fed back to him. He hesitated for a moment longer, before shrugging. "I, uh... I was just wondering what she's like," He admitted, voice dropping in volume, half-hoping Lydia didn't hear. His cheeks seemed to redden, but not as much as his ears did.  
>A weighty realisation dawned on Lydia so completely that she had to do a double-take. <em>Oh my God.<em> _He… He _likes _her! Ramon has a crush on Clare!_

It was a big assumption, yes, but the way in which he was acting was so giveaway that Lydia picked up on it instantly. She felt a rush of sympathy for him, but also couldn't help wondering if he'd fallen and hit his head. If he was really about to confess to liking Clare Brewster then she'd have to hold her tongue and stop herself from telling him to get his head examined. _  
>What do I do? Oh, what do I tell him? He wants to know what she's <em>like_? Should I be honest, even though it'll shoot him down? _She inwardly stressed, cupping her chin as she wondered, frantic._ What in the world does he think he can see in her? Clare is _horrible! _She'll chew him up and spit him back out again! _

Silence seemed to linger on, and with every passing second Ramon became all the more uncomfortable.  
>Lydia struggled to come up with a response that would satisfy him yet was also honest at the same time. She exhaled finally, deciding to give him a version of the truth. "She's… a handful." She admitted, unable to help herself. "She isn't the <em>nicest <em>girl, Ramon,"  
>Her neighbour rubbed the back of his neck, cringing as he lowered his head. "Y-Yeah, that seems to be the public's general opinion…"<p>

"But… you're interested in her," Lydia prompted, folding her arms and arching a dark eyebrow.  
>Ramon's eyes bulged, and he raised his hands in attempted denial. "I-I didn't say I was!" He objected.<br>"It's written all over your face. So. 'Spill'."  
>"I…" He looked away, eyes darting. "... I don't know."<p>

Lydia rolled her eyes. She knew what it was like to be in denial, and to feel too afraid of what you had to lose when in reality you only had everything to gain. She could sympathise, even if she didn't agree with the object of his affection. Ramon was a nice guy. He deserved better.  
>"Oh, come on." She pressed, but he didn't seem to react to her attempts to console him. Finally, kneading her temples, she let out a breath. She realised there was something she could do, or offer him, that might win him around.<br>_I am really going to regret this… _She thought with a mental whine, before deciding that, well, she kind of owed him."Look. Maybe I can—help you? You know, give you a bit of girl's insight?" She offered, though she didn't know much about the dating scene. After all, the only man she'd ever been with had been her best friend since she was twelve. She didn't _know_ any different, so who was she to coach?

The offer seemed to work however, because Ramon looked up at her. He was still a little unsteady, but smiled weakly nonetheless. "She crossed in front of my school the other day, and she... well, she didn't look as though she were having the best time. She was having an argument on the phone, sounded like her friends were giving her hell." Running his hands through his hair, he shrugged, voice cracking as he tried to explain. "I—I wanted to _help _her. I looked over at her... heck, she even _smiled _at me,"  
>Lydia couldn't imagine Clare genuinely smiling at anyone, except her reflection in the mirror, and conceitedly at that.<p>

_Poor Ramon. _She thought. _Taken in by her Barbie smile. _She would have thought he was smarter than that, but he was young, so he could be forgiven.

"I… I don't know how to say this, Ramon…" Lydia began anxiously, "... but I think you're out of her league,"  
>Watching Ramon wince made Lydia feel like the worst person in the world. She raised her hands in apology, eyes widening. "Wait! I didn't mean that the way it sounded! I meant that- I think she likes college boys. And models. And millionaires. Jerks that can treat her like a princess and spoil her rotten, but have room to let upstairs, if you catch my drift,"<br>"I... know what you meant," Ramon said, smiling bravely. "Thanks, Lydia,"  
>He turned to go, hands primed to push foliage aside ready to navigate his forested shortcut. As he went, he glanced back at her over his shoulder. "You know, I think there's more to Clare than most people think," He said firmly, with actual belief rather than naive hope.<p>

Lydia grimaced._ Hard to tell. It's buried beneath too much make up_… A dark, surprisingly bitchy, part of her mind thought, but out loud all she said was: "W-Whatever you say, Ramon,"  
>As though he could read her mind, he grinned at her sceptically. "And what if people told <em>you <em>you were crazy because of who you wanted to be with?" He pressed.  
>Lydia couldn't help but laugh. It was a retort that was completely fair, and so right on the money. "Ahaha, they'd probably be right. But..." She smiled at him, realising his point. "I wouldn't listen. It wouldn't change how I feel,"<p>

Triumphant, Ramon's grin widened. "Exactly." He turned back to the forested, bushy area of the hill. "Anyways. Tell Beetle I said 'hi',"  
>"Will do," Lydia said automatically. As he began ducking through the hedge, however, her mind caught up to speed. She felt guilty for saying all the things she did. It didn't matter how much she disliked Clare, Ramon was her friend. "Wait—!"<br>He stopped and turned. "Yeah?"

Smiling apologetically, Lydia willed herself to appear enthusiastic. "I'll help you. With Clare. I'll try and talk to her the next time I see her_. _I can't guarantee anything; I can't even guarantee she'll listen to me, but I owe you if you've been keeping quiet about B. J.,"  
>Ramon's eyes widened somewhat in gratitude. "I... have been." He said, bewildered. "You didn't owe me a thing, Lyds, but if you can do that then... that means a lot to me,"<p>

Lydia still felt as though she needed him to know what he was getting himself in for. Her face wrinkled up as she hesitated over what she was about to say. "Ramon... I'm pretty sure she'd bleed you dry. And I don't just mean in the wallet; I mean, emotionally. You know that, right?"

His brave face didn't falter. "And what if I can change her?"  
>Again, a stab of sympathy. <em>You're so young, Ramon…<em>

"You shouldn't _want _to change someone if you want to be with them," She said.

"True, unless they _themselves_ want to change,"

_Somehow, I don't think she does…_

Seeing they were at a stalemate, Ramon just waved and turned his back for the last time. "Later, Lydia,"  
>"Yeah... later," She breathed, watching his retreating back solemnly.<p>

When he was gone, she blew out a breath that tousled her fringe, body sagging with the release of it.

Well. Beetlejuice would certainly have a field day with this one.

* * *

><p>The next morning, Lydia was focused on getting right back into her college course. The only problem was that she was weak-willed. She'd allowed herself to again be distracted by Beetlejuice briefly, telling herself that they were allowed one conversation before she got her head down, working. She was explaining to him her last assignment and how the grading system worked, while he was trying to show interest in what she was talking about whilst failing spectacularly.<p>

Now, skirting the edge of her bed, Lydia's fingertips idly brushed the violet comforter as she passed. Heading over to her vanity table, she lifted up a plastic wallet filled with paperwork off its surface, staring at it critically. Beetlejuice's brows furrowed. "That yer project?" He asked, pointing.  
>Lydia nodded in confirmation. In a way she was looking forward to getting stuck back in to something productive again. "Yeah. I have to complete a project on the passage of time, the history of photojournalism <em>and <em>an analysis on postwar photography. I'm going to have to restage a photo or two." She chewed the inside of her lip, concern touching her face. "I haven't done _any _research yet."

As Lydia relayed the details of her assignment, Beetlejuice's face seemed to suddenly drain of colour.  
>History. Photojournalism. Postwar.<p>

Memories were pulled up before his eyes like he was being forcefully held in front of a projector.  
><em>Now<em> it all came to him. Of course he'd seen the title and brief of Lydia's assignment – she'd had it open in her bedroom for the past two weeks. In fact, he'd discovered it _right before the nightmares had started_.

He watched helplessly as Lydia began packing her satchel.  
>"I'm heading to the library, B. J.," She said without turning. Tying her hair up into its usual gravity-defying updo, she replaced her pink and violet hair-tie with a black and white one. Then she turned, smiling. "Ta da!" She exclaimed with a pirouette of her heel, only to find that Beetlejuice's jaundiced eyes were all-together faraway. He was deep in thought, and looked anxious to say the least.<p>

Lydia stared at him for what couldn't have been any longer than a few seconds, but felt like hours. Finally his eyes refocused. "Uh, babes, y'lookin' at… _local_ papers?" He asked, trying to sound off-hand.  
>"That's the whole poi-int," She hummed back, but pouted slightly, trying not to feel hurt that he hadn't commented on the hair-tie he had been the influence for.<p>

"Well, uh..." His gaze shifted away from her. "Y' should stay away from–" Beetlejuice calculated mentally, wracking his brain. "– '46 or '47. Not gonna be the right kind o' thing yer lookin' for. Trust me, I've been around a while; not anythin' worth lookin' at,"  
>Lydia's brows furrowed at the strange suggestion. "But…"<br>Floating in the air, reclining, Beetlejuice cut her off, but managed a reassuring smile. "My stripes look good on ya, Lyds," He dropped.  
>Forgetting what she'd been about to say, Lydia touched a hand to her hair-tie, cheeks pinking. "You think so?" She prompted.<p>

**_Wait... _**

Suspicion roused, she narrowed her darkening eyes. Was he... manipulating her? He had to have been! Acting like his message had been beneficial to her, like it was a vague comment in passing, before throwing in a compliment to distract her. He was trying to _dodge_ something.

"Beetlejuice... what do you mean that I should avoid those years?" She asked, tone laced with deadly patience. Her arms folded as if on automatic. Having known him for over seven years, Lydia knew him too well, and she could certainly see right through him. He should've known better.

Beetlejuice suddenly looked irked, realising he may have been caught out. Eyes widening, he tried to look innocent. "No reason," He replied, but deliberately looked away.  
><em>Got'cha. <em>Lydia thought sternly, eyes narrowing to slits. "Because, you know, those _were_ the years I was going to be hitting up,"

A look of uncertainty and worry passed over his face. "Just… nothin' happened,"  
>"How would <em>you <em>know?"  
>"Don't you trust me?"<br>"Not right now I don't,"

Instead of looking hurt, he looked tired and frustrated. "This is me bein' honest, babes, so enjoy it while it lasts, okay? If there's somethin' you find that you didn't want to see, don't say I didn't warn ya,"  
>"What's <em>that<em> supposed to mean?"

"It means, babe, that I'm headin' back to the Roadhouse while you bother with your education," He said in what was meant to be jest, but came out like a cross retort. He floated back towards the mirror, retiring from what could have quickly spiralled into an all-out warring argument. Sitting inside, he raised his eyebrows at her, red-tipped fingers tapping the wooden frame that enclosed the seeing-glass. "Comin' over when yer done? They're finally releasin' the new pilot for _Slimedunk!. _It _was_ our baby after all,"

Despite eyeing him suspiciously still, Lydia decided to drop the subject. She exhaled heavily. "Okay, but I _mean_ it, B. J., I have work to do. I'm going to be busy this week,"

"I get it, babes. But, still. Roadhouse. Later."

She sighed, crumbling under the force of his will. "... See you there,"


End file.
